


Not in the Hands of Boys

by fourth_rose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Growing Up, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Post-Book(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2018-01-04 21:19:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 130,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourth_rose/pseuds/fourth_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once the final battle is won, life must go on, although it can be even harder to master than death. Back at Hogwarts for his final year of school, Harry tries to cope with everything he's been through. As the world around him struggles for a way back to normality, he is forced to realise that in the long run, living takes a lot more courage than dying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic starts out a few weeks after the last chapter of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows". It's fully compliant with book 7 canon, but the events of the Epilogue aren't going to happen in this storyline's future. (It's possible, I promise ;-) It will eventually be Harry/Draco, with other pairings (both het and slash) along the way.
> 
> The story is based on book canon alone; I don't stick to any kind of extra information that JKR gave in interviews, on her website, etc. 
> 
> The title is from Wilfred Owen's "Anthem for Doomed Youth". Thanks to cloudlessnights for betaing!

Coming back had been a mistake.

 

Harry watched Ron rummage around the small, cramped room and was grateful for the unfamiliarity of his surroundings. This, at least, didn't feel as if he had tried to go back in time and got stuck in some pale, bleak imitation of the past instead.

 

Ron straightened up and slammed the lid of his trunk shut with a wave of his wand, then sat down heavily on his bed. He gave Harry, who was still stretched out on his own four-poster without even having taken his shoes off, a quizzical look. "You're not unpacking?"

 

Harry shrugged and kept staring at the ceiling. "Just can't be arsed."

 

It was quiet for a while, before Ron said almost hesitatingly, "It's – strange, somehow, isn't it? Being back, I mean."

 

When Harry's only answer was a non-committal grunt, Ron pressed on, "Don't get me wrong, I wanted to come back, I want my NEWTs and everything, but it's... I expected it to feel better."

 

Harry didn't reply; he felt there wasn't much he could say to that. He had dreaded the day when he would have to set foot into Hogwarts again, the place he'd considered home until it had been befouled and mutilated by the darkness that had touched it. The damage of the battle that they'd fought here had mostly been repaired, but the scars were still clearly visible. He wondered if he would ever be able to step into the Great Hall again without seeing blood on the flagstones and a long row of still, dead bodies laid out on the floor.

 

There had been no way to avoid going back, of course – vanquisher of Voldemort or not, they wouldn't let him into Auror training if he didn't sit his NEWTs first. Still, he thoroughly wished there had been another way.

 

He tried not to think about the Welcoming Feast that had ended less than an hour ago, about all those empty seats at the four house tables. There were many students from his own year who, like him, had come back to finish their education – Muggle-borns like Dean who had been on the run, or resistance fighters like Neville who had been forced to go into hiding during the last year. Still, they weren't enough by far to make up for all those who were dead or had decided not to return. The Sorting Hat had sung about reconciliation and the healing of wounds, but Harry didn't see any signs of either when he looked at his fellow students. Like the castle itself, they all still showed signs of the strain the last year had put them under, and he couldn't imagine how this should change anytime soon. The war was over, but it would be a long time until they all got to the healing part.

 

Ron obviously thought along the same lines, because his face twisted in disgust. "Can you believe what McGonagall said during her speech? _I've come to realise that I alienated Slytherin house at a time when it would have been more important than ever that we all stand together_? She bloody apologised to the bastards for letting them betray us!"

 

Harry remembered the half-empty Slytherin table and the dark looks the Slytherins had given the new Headmistress when she had addressed them. The only one who had kept his eyes resolutely on his plate had been Draco Malfoy, who was one of only three Slytherins from Harry's year to return to the school. Harry had done a double-take when he'd first spotted Draco's white-blond head at the Slytherin table; he'd never have expected him to show his face at Hogwarts again. He fleetingly wondered whether Draco had got himself a new wand over the summer – the Hawthorn wand Harry had taken from him was still stashed safely at the bottom of Harry's trunk.

 

He realised belatedly that Ron was expecting some kind of answer. "I suppose she thinks we need a way to get along with them in the future."

 

Ron shrugged. "I'll get along with the Slytherins when hell freezes over." He looked around the small room, a grin replacing the sour expression on his face. "But I really like this place. It will be great not to hear Neville's snoring any longer."

 

Harry smiled weakly. Since all the Gryffindor boys from their year had returned, there just hadn't been enough room for them in the seventh-year dormitory. They'd been given small rooms right under the roof of the tower instead: Harry and Ron shared one, Dean and Seamus the other, while Neville, the new Head Boy, had a room of his own. Harry, too, was glad of this – not so much because of the privacy, but going back to sleeping in his old bed as if last year's events had never happened would have added to the feeling of wrongness he hadn't been able to shake off ever since he'd stepped onto platform nine and three-quarters that morning.

 

"Yes, Nev can snore as much as he likes now."

 

"Neville Longbottom, Head Boy. Who'd ever have thought it?" Ron gave Harry a sidelong glance. "You know, Harry – everyone expected it to be you."

 

Harry kept his face blank. "McGonagall wrote a while back and asked whether I'd accept the position if she chose me. I said I wouldn't." He was profusely grateful when Ron merely nodded and didn't pursue the topic.

 

"Is Hermione still supposed to arrive tomorrow?"

 

Ron nodded again, his expression brightening. "She wrote last week and said that she'd Apparate to Hogsmeade straight from the airport." He rolled the word around in his mouth as if it had an exotic and not quite pleasant flavour sticking to it.

 

"Things still not going well with her parents?"

 

Ron's face fell. "Didn't sound like it. They were furious with her when they'd got their memories back and realised what she'd done – accused her of feeling superior and patronising them because of her magical skills. Don't they understand that she only wanted to keep them safe?"

 

Harry shrugged. "They'll come around. Sometimes you have to risk angering somebody you care for in order to keep them out of harm's way."

 

He realised a split second too late that he'd broached a dangerous topic when Ron gave him a piercing look. "You mean like you treated Ginny?"

 

He held up a hand to cut off any reply Harry might have made. "Harry, mate, I think we really need to talk about this. About you and Ginny, I mean."

 

Harry sighed. He'd seen it coming, of course; it would have been stupid not to expect this sooner or later. "What is there to talk about?"

 

"Are you planning to get together with her again, now that the war is over?"

 

Harry sat up, bewildered. "Yes, of course I am. I just didn't think it would be a good time so shortly after –" He fell silent, remembering the weeks he'd spent at the Burrow this summer, when he would have been hard-pressed to say what was worse: the atmosphere of heartbreak and mourning that lay over the house like a shroud, or the Weasley family's desperate attempts not to let him feel it. There were times when he Apparated away to spend a few hours by himself at Grimmauld Place because even the oppressive silence inside the gloomy old house was less crushing than the weight of the false cheerfulness at the Burrow.

 

He'd expected Ron to look away, but Ron held his gaze steadily. "Harry, listen to me. I had a long talk with Ginny while you were visiting Mrs Tonks and Teddy last week, and I've talked with Hermione as well before she left for Australia."

 

"Bully for you." Harry was beginning to feel irritated. "Anyone else you want to discuss my love life with? Rita Skeeter, perhaps?"

 

"Don't bite my head off, okay? You're my best mate, and she's my little sister. I want to see you both happy, is all."

 

Harry's shoulders slumped; he suddenly remembered how Ron had jumped into a freezing pool to save him. "Right. I'm sorry."

 

"Never mind. Look, Harry – like I said, I talked with Ginny about you, and – well, I don't think I've ever met the bloke she keeps nattering about. She says his name is Harry Potter, but he's definitely not you."

 

Harry gave him the careful look usually reserved for mental patients. "Ron, what on earth is that supposed to mean?"

 

"Can I ask you something?" Ron asked instead of replying to Harry's question. "What is her favourite subject?"

 

"Erm..." Harry hesitated, trying to remember whether he'd ever discussed school matters with Ginny. "Defense?"

 

"Her favourite teacher?"

 

Harry hesitated again. "McGonagall, I suppose. What –"

 

"Which animals is she allergic to?"

 

Harry shrugged, completely nonplussed. "Ron, I have no idea! Why on earth –"

 

"It's Charms, Professor Flitwick, and rabbits." Ron sighed. "Mate, have you ever talked to her at all?"

 

"Well, perhaps not that much," Harry admitted, "but we didn't really have much time together, remember? Or has it escaped your notice that I was rather busy last year?"

 

"Yes, and you were hell-bent on keeping her out of it." There was no accusation in Ron's voice, but Harry's temper flared nevertheless.

 

"Of course I did, I wanted her to be safe! Ron, I used to think about her all the time, hoping that nothing had happened to her! I –"

 

"Funny that you never talked about her, then," Ron interrupted him calmly, and Harry gaped at him with his mouth open.

 

"What would there have been to talk about? 'Hey, Ron, I'm still worried about your sister'?"

 

Ron shrugged. "I dunno, I rather like talking about Hermione when I miss her. It helps a bit."

 

"You didn't have to miss her much, you were together most of the time anyway," Harry snapped back.

 

"Yes, and that's exactly how I wanted it to be," Ron said gravely. "I wanted her by my side, even if it meant she'd be in the thick of it just like me. You, on the other hand, seem content with having Ginny stashed away safely somewhere, like a picture on your living room wall that's there for you to look at whenever you want, but doesn't get in your way."

 

Harry flopped back onto the bed and closed his eyes. "You know what, Ron? I don't want to talk about this any more."

 

Ron, however, wasn't deterred so easily. "You're still thinking about her, then?"

 

Harry sighed and opened his eyes again. "Of course I am. Sometimes at night, when I can't sleep, I keep picturing... erm, you sure you want to hear this?"

 

Ron looked rather uncomfortable, but he nodded. Harry felt his own cheeks heat up when he continued, "I sometimes picture how it would be – you know, being together with her. Living together, having a family some day, that kind of thing. I once dreamed about us putting our children on the Hogwarts Express... I think you and Hermione were there, too. Best dream I've ever had in my life; I still had a stupid smile on my face when I woke up."

 

He wasn't sure what made him confess his most treasured fantasy to Ron, who would probably laugh at him – but instead, Ron stared at him with an expression of horror on his face. " _That's_ what you're fantasizing about? Putting your kids on the Hogwarts Express?"

 

Harry bristled. "I don't see what's wrong with it! Don't you ever imagine how life with Hermione is going to be?"

 

"Harry, mate." Ron seemed thoroughly flustered now, but he pressed on. "When I find myself lying awake at night and thinking about Hermione, I usually focus on things that are a bit more, um – physical than that, if you get my drift."

 

Now it was Harry's turn to give him a horrified stare. "Ron, are you asking me whether I'm tossing off to the image of your sister?!"

 

"Are you?"

 

"No, of course not!" Harry half expected his head to explode any moment from sheer embarrassment. "Ron, can we please change the subject _now_ and pretend we never had this conversation?"

 

It seemed as if Ron hadn't even heard his plea. "You're _not_?"

 

"RON!"

 

"Do you think this is easy for me?" Ron bellowed, his furious blush now approaching his forehead and clashing horribly with the colour of his hair. "But it seems to me you're in love with your fantasy image of the future mother of your children, and my sister has a crush on _her_ fantasy of the wizarding world's hero! How do you ever expect to cope with the fact that you're both real, normal people when you don't even know each other?"

 

"Ron, for the last time, drop it!" Harry hadn't meant to shout, but it was too late now. In a lower voice, he added, "It'll all work out, you'll see."

 

"If you say so, mate." Ron still seemed doubtful, but to Harry's relief, he _did_ change the topic after a brief, extremely uncomfortable pause.

 

"I can't wait to play Quidditch again, you know. That is, if you'll still let me on the team."

 

Harry went back to staring at the ceiling. "That's not up to me, Ron, I'm not Quidditch captain any longer."

 

"What?" Ron looked positively apoplectic. "McGonagall didn't give you the captaincy back?"

 

"She made Demelza Robins captain last year, and from what I heard, Demelza did a good job. It would be a bit unfair to take the captaincy away from her now, wouldn't it?"

 

"Yes, but what about you? Don't you –"

 

"Ron," Harry interrupted him; he suddenly felt very tired. "I'm not playing Quidditch this year. Ginny is a fine Seeker, they don't need me on the team. It's – I just don't care any more, sorry." Harry was a bit dismayed himself by his total lack of interest, but he simply couldn't muster up any enthusiasm for his former favourite pastime. After the events of the past year, getting all worked up over a ball game just seemed childish and pointless.

 

"Not even if it means you get to kick Malfoy's arse again? I heard he's the new Slytherin captain." The sound of Ron's voice reminded Harry a bit of a growling dog. "I can't believe Slughorn would choose him. I don't see why the bastard even came back, he was at Hogwarts for most of last year!"

 

Harry shrugged. "He probably didn't think it was wise to sit his NEWTs if he wasn't fully prepared for them, now that the examiners are no longer in his Daddy's pocket."

 

In an heroic effort, Headmistress McGonagall had managed to organise belated OWL and NEWT exams at the beginning of July, so that those students who didn't want to repeat a year would be able to finish their education. Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown had both sat their NEWTs then and hadn't returned this year. "Stop worrying about Malfoy, Ron, I doubt he'll give us any trouble."

 

"He'd better not." Ron cracked his knuckles in a way that reminded Harry eerily of Crabbe and Goyle. He quickly pushed the thought away.

 

* * *

 

He shouldn't have told Ron about that dream with the Hogwarts express. It had helped him through more than one sleepless night to concentrate on the memory of the dream, of the blissful feeling of utter peace and contentment that had still lingered when he'd woken up from it. Now it seemed to Harry as if Ron's disdainful dismissal of the scene had tainted it somehow, had made it feel stupid and tacky instead of sweet and comforting.

 

With a sigh, he turned over in his bed for the fifth time in as many minutes. The sounds of even breathing from the bed next to him told him that Ron was fast asleep, but Harry felt restless and ill at ease. Now that he was back in the too-familiar walls of Hogwarts castle, there seemed to be no safe place for his thoughts to turn to; the memories kept assailing him from all sides, and Harry knew only too well that he must not dwell on them if he didn't want to get caught up in another nightmare.

 

He tried to empty his thoughts and concentrate on the sound of his heartbeat instead, revelling in the fact that the reassuring pulse was still there, that he could still draw breath and feel the cool night air on his skin, the softness of the pillow against his cheek and the smooth sheets under his fingertips. He'd walked down the path that had led him straight into the jaws of death, a path he'd never expected to return from – yet here he was, living and breathing, with his wishes and dreams still intact and a future that he once hadn't dared hope for right before his eyes, his for the taking.

 

It all became easier during these moments, when he remembered how much it meant just to be alive. Harry thought back to his visits at Andromeda Tonks' house, to the hours he'd spent with his baby godson. He'd never held a baby before, but he knew he'd always remember the moment Mrs Tonks had first placed the squeaking bundle into his arms. Among so much death and grief, there was this new life, innocent and unaware of the dark times it had been born into, dependent on those who loved it to keep it from harm and help it grow and thrive.

 

Harry tried to hold on to the memory of Teddy sleeping in his arms and hoped it would calm him enough to be finally able to sleep himself. It didn't work, though; thinking of Teddy meant thinking of the still bodies of Remus and Tonks in the Great Hall, of the fact that this baby boy, like so many others, would grow up without parents to love him because they had been taken from him while fighting a fight that should have been Harry's alone. If only he'd realised sooner that –

 

_No._

 

Harry stopped himself just in time; that way lay madness. He knew he mustn't dwell on the past, must never ask himself whether he could have done more to prevent the bloodbath that had happened within the walls of Hogwarts. He'd done all he could – it had not been enough, but allowing himself to wallow in guilt wouldn't bring back the dead.

 

He rolled over again and tried to conjure another happy fantasy, one he'd never allow Ron to see and pick apart. At long last, he settled on the image of a cosy living room with a brightly lit Christmas tree, where he was sitting with Ginny snuggled up against his shoulder while a couple of beaming children were ripping up wrapping paper and squealing with delight over their presents. Harry concentrated with all his might, until he could almost smell the fragrance of cinnamon, wax and resin and feel the warmth of the candles on his face, the tickle of Ginny's fiery hair against his cheek and the texture of her brightly coloured Weasley jumper under his hand.

 

He held on to the image while he slowly slipped away into sleep, hoping it would be enough to keep the shadows at bay for another night.


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

_"You've been so brave... just a little bit longer, it will soon be over… only a few steps, and it will be done…"_

_The pale figures were beckoning, their hands reaching out for him, and Harry felt himself being dragged forwards even though he was struggling with all his might to stay were he was._

_"No, please, leave me alone! I won't, I can't go there – I don't want to die, let me be!"_

_His own voice sounded shrill and panicky in his ears, and his heart sank when he saw his mother's smile fade, his father's proud expression melt away. "You must, Harry, there's no other way –"_

_"There has to be! I want to live, you can't make me –"_

_"We all wanted to live, Harry." That was Remus, his face just as lined and haggard as it had been when Harry had last seen him among the living. "We all gave our lives, gave them for you, and you can't do the same for us?"_

_"We might not even have died if you'd figured it out sooner." Fred's features were twisted in a grimace of pain, all signs of his last laugh gone. Next to him, Colin's eyes were huge and dark against the bluish pallor of his face. "I went to my death for you, Harry, remember?"_

_Sirius just shook his head and turned away. Half-hidden behind him and Remus, Harry saw Tonks cradle an empty bundle of blankets to her chest as if she hadn't noticed yet that she wasn't holding her baby boy any longer, would never get to hold him again._

_"I never wanted any of you to die!" Harry was screaming at the top of his lungs now. "I never wanted any of this, and you have no right to ask more from me! I won't do it, I won't go there so that he can kill me!"_

_"You will, Harry." Dumbledore's grave face radiated disappointment. He held out his blackened hand, and Harry's feet moved forward on their own accord, even though he desperately tried to keep them still. "The choice was never yours; it was made for you a long time ago. Don't fight this, it will be over soon, and you'll find peace then, you'll see…"_

_"NO!" Harry's throat felt sore and raw from all the screaming. "I can't do this! Let me be,_ I don't want to die _–"_

 

"Harry, WAKE UP!"

 

Strong, warm hands were shaking him, and Harry struggled against them for a moment before he came to his senses. He opened his eyes, but everything remained dark; it took him a moment until he recognised the outline of Ron's head and shoulders against the pale moonlight filtering through the window.

 

"I – what…" Harry was barely able to get the words out; he was so hoarse that every sound was painful.

 

"It's okay, Harry." Ron's hands remained on his shoulders, firm and sure, and Harry had never been so grateful for a simple touch. "You're not going to die. It's over, and you got through it all right, remember?"

 

Harry took a deep breath, ignoring the pain in his throat, and finally found the strength to push Ron's hands away. He heard a whispered " _Lumos_ ", and then the room was bathed in soft, warm light. Ron was perched on the side of Harry's bed, his face pale and his eyes shining with something Harry couldn't identify.

 

"Okay now, Harry? You've just been dreaming."

 

Harry sat up and ran his hands through his hair to avoid Ron's gaze. "I'm sorry I woke you. Go back to bed, okay?"

 

Ron didn't move. "Have them often? These nightmares, I mean."

 

Harry's first impulse was to deny it, but there was something in Ron's expression that made it impossible to lie to him. "Quite often, yeah."

 

"Thought so." Ron's face was grim. "I knew there was something wrong when you were hell-bent on sleeping alone in Bill's old room. Why didn't you say anything?"

 

Harry shrugged. "What for? You've got enough on your plate, I don't need you to hold my hand just because I have a bad dream." It had come out a lot harsher than he'd intended, but Ron's expression didn't change.

 

"What did you dream about?"

 

Harry didn't answer. There was no way he'd ever be able to express the gut-wrenching terror he felt whenever he found himself back at the moment when he had realised that he was meant to go to his death, had always been meant to without knowing it. The actual events of that night seemed like a half-faded nightmare themselves by now, so unreal that he had a hard time believing that he'd ever been able to do it, that he had ever possessed the strength to quietly accept that death was his only choice. Now that he was no longer numb with shock and grief as he'd been then, that he'd had months to fully realise what had happened, to feel and grasp the magnitude of everything that had passed that night, the mere thought paralysed him with horror, and it got worse every time that the scene replayed itself in his dreams.

 

"It's nothing, Ron, really." He hated the way his voice shook and paused a moment to steady it, cursing himself for this shameful display of weakness. "It was just a stupid dream; I'm sorry I made such a racket. I'll put up a Silencing Charm in the future, okay?"

 

Ron's eyes narrowed. "Don't you _dare_. You were dreaming about going to face You-Know-Who, weren't you?" When Harry didn't answer, it was Ron's turn to look away; his hands were balled into fists, and the muscles in his jaws worked as if he were clenching his teeth.

 

"I can't stop thinking about it, Harry, ever since you first told us. I just get so bloody angry, you know?"

 

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. He had a feeling where this was going, and he wasn't sure whether he wanted to hear it. "Ron, don't –"

 

"How _could_ he?" Ron didn't even seem to have heard him. "How could he just expect you to – to go and ask to be slaughtered? I knew he was off his rocker, but I always thought that you... that you were really special to him, and then it turns out he only wanted you to get yourself killed when the timing was right! It's so – so bloody unfair!"

 

"Ron." Thankfully, Harry's voice obeyed him once more. "None of what happened to any of us was fair. Life isn't fair, and you know it. How's it fair that I'm alive while" – he stopped himself from saying Fred's name just in time – "while so many others were killed? There's no need to get all worked up on my behalf."

 

Ron whipped around at this. "That's rubbish, Harry, and you know it. They were killed by Death Eaters, the people they were fighting. But Dumbledore was supposed to be on _your_ side!"

 

"He had more than just me to think about. His main concern wasn't my safety, it was –"

 

"– the greater good?"

 

Harry had never heard Ron's voice sound so bitter. He looked down at his hands which were nervously plucking at his blanket; he hadn't even noticed he was doing it before.

 

"Something like that, yeah."

 

"Well, then –"

 

Harry shook his head. "Ron, let it go. Please. I – I can't think about this right now." Ever since the adrenaline rush of the final battle had worn off, he'd been careful not to dwell on the questions which Ron had just asked. He knew he was treading on dangerous ground; once he began to think about this, there would be no stopping his thoughts, and Harry wasn't sure he'd be able to cope with the conclusions he'd come up with.

 

Perhaps, in time, there would come a point where he would be able to face the memory of Albus Dumbledore with a clear head and an open mind, and he would figure out how to make sense of his conflicting emotions then. Right now, Harry was determined not to think about Dumbledore, although he was strangely grateful that Ron would feel angry and betrayed on his behalf when he himself couldn't.

 

Long after Ron had gone back to sleep, Harry was still lying wide awake. He was afraid to fall asleep again; the memories that haunted him seemed ever so much stronger now that he was back at Hogwarts, and he didn't feel up to facing another nightmare so soon. He wasn't sure what had happened to the desperate, determined courage that had kept him going during the last year; now that it was all over, that he was safe at last, he felt weaker and more fearful than ever before in his life. As he watched the first light of dawn seep into the room, Harry couldn't help asking himself, not for the first time, if it had really been his own strength that had driven him forward back then, whether it hadn't been that piece of Voldemort's stone-cold, ruthless soul deep within him that he'd tapped into whenever he needed to be stronger than he really was.

 

It would explain why the bravery he'd always taken for granted as the mark of a true Gryffindor had left him so utterly after Voldemort's death that he now barely felt able to face what the next day would bring.

 

* * *

 

"Harry, over here!"

 

Bleary-eyed and drowsy, Harry slowly made his way over to the Gryffindor table, where Hermione was waving at him. She was beaming, but it wasn't lost on Harry how dark the shadows under her eyes were and how Ron was hovering next to her, watching her every move with an air of protectiveness.

 

Harry returned the fierce hug she gave him and then held her at arm's length to take a look at her. It had only been four weeks since he'd last seen her, but they had seemed like an eternity, and she didn't look as if she'd had much fun during that time.

 

"How did things go with your parents?"

 

Hermione's face fell; Ron wrapped an arm around her shoulders when she sat back down with Harry on her other side. "Not so good."

 

"They came back with you, though, didn't they?" Harry did his best to sound positive, but he was aware that he probably wasn't the best person for pep-up talks right now.

 

Hermione nodded miserably. "Yes, of course they did – they said they wanted to go back to their lives, now that I had stopped messing with their minds and they could remember them..." She blinked a few times before continuing, in a small voice, "They just don't understand that I had no choice. They said – a lot of things, none of them very nice." She drew a deep, determined breath and gave Harry a watery smile. "But don't worry, we'll work it out. They are all right, and that's all that matters at the moment. How are you, Harry? How is Teddy?"

 

"He's fine," Harry answered, evading the first part of her question, "I spent a lot of time at Mrs Tonks' house with him, and he's just great. I think he already recognises me; he always turns his hair black when he sees me."

 

"That's wonderful." Hermione was smiling more convincingly this time, but then quickly became serious again. "And Mrs Tonks?"

 

Harry shrugged. "As can be expected." He'd been amazed by Andromeda Tonks' composure; nothing in her demeanour had given away that she was mourning her husband and her only daughter, but there had been a flat, dead look in her eyes that Harry had found thoroughly disturbing. There was nothing that he of all people could do about it, of course; deep down, he knew that he couldn't even have blamed Mrs Tonks if she'd forbidden him to ever come near her grandson, godfather or not.

 

Hermione was kept from answering by Professor Sinistra, the new Head of Gryffindor House, who was moving along the table handing out timetables. Harry took his with the same strange sense of surrealism he'd experienced the evening before, when he'd sat down for the Welcoming Feast. Again, he felt as if he'd gone back in time and landed in a past that was strangely distorted – familiar enough, but still wrong somehow. Or perhaps it was just him who didn't fit into it any more.

 

Ron was studying the timetable with one hand still around Hermione's shoulders and a piece of toast in the other. "Blimey, Harry, look at this – we've got classes together with all the other houses!"

 

"It seemed like the best solution," Professor Sinistra, who was still standing nearby, told him curtly. "It was difficult enough to arrange everyone's timetables so that students below seventh year who have to repeat a year could stay with their housemates, but there are just too many seventh-year students, since so many of last years' returned. We could have split them up either by house or by age, and the Headmistress chose the latter option."

 

"Why?" Ron asked bluntly. "I'd rather have classes with the younger Gryffindors than with a bunch of Slytherins who happen to be my age."

 

"Yes, I'm well aware of that, Mr Weasley," Professor Sinistra replied in a tone which was so carefully neutral that it was impossible to tell whether she agreed with Ron or not.

 

Out of habit, Harry glanced over at the half-empty Slytherin table. Beside Draco Malfoy, whose white-blond head was bent so low that Harry couldn't see his face, there seemed to be only two more students from their year: Blaise Zabini and a pale, mousy girl whom Harry remembered from Hagrid's classes although he had forgotten her name. They all looked sullen and subdued; Harry doubted that they'd give anyone much trouble this year.

 

Tearing his eyes away from the Slytherins, Harry took a piece of toast and started nibbling at it; he wasn't hungry, but he reckoned he had to eat something to be prepared for the day. A glimpse at his own timetable informed him that the new school year would start with double Potions and Defence before lunch. This caused him to remember a question he'd been meaning to ask ever since last evening.

 

"Ron, do you have any idea who's teaching Defence this year?"

 

Ron frowned and quickly swallowed his mouthful of scrambled eggs before he answered, "Nope. There was no new face at the teachers' table yesterday, was there?"

 

Harry shook his head. "Not that I remember. They haven't even found a replacement for McGonagall, she said she'll still teach Transfiguration this year."

 

"Perhaps one of the teachers is covering two subjects?" Hermione suggested.

 

Ron shook his head. "Nah, I don't think that would work. Perhaps the new fellow is just arriving later."

 

Harry was about to answer when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around and found himself face to face with Ginny, whose eyes were flashing dangerously.

 

Harry's heart skipped a beat; for a moment, he was at a loss for words. He knew that Ginny had every reason to be angry with him. He hadn't quite avoided her during the weeks he'd spent at the Burrow, but he hadn't sought her company either; he just didn't trust himself around her while matters were still unresolved between them. It had seemed tactless to ask her whether she wanted him back so shortly after her brother's death, so he'd kept his distance for the time being. Ginny hadn't paid him much attention anyway, but he could understand all too well that she'd had other things on her mind. When he looked at her expression now, however, he couldn't help wondering whether he shouldn't have said something sooner.

 

"Morning, Ginny. What –"

 

She didn't even let him finish the question. "Demelza just told me you won't be on the team any more. Is it true?"

 

So this wasn't about them, after all. Harry wasn't quite sure whether he should be glad or disappointed. "Yes, of course, I told her yesterday. I –"

 

Ginny sat down on the bench next to him so that those around them wouldn't hear them talking. Her voice was so low that Harry had to lean in to hear her properly, but it was still obvious that she was furious. "What do you think you're doing?"

 

"What?" Harry was at a total loss. "What do you mean?"

 

"Is this your attempt to make up for the fact that you've barely looked at me ever since – since it was all over? Stepping generously aside so that I can keep playing Seeker?"

 

Harry gaped at her with his mouth open. "WHAT?"

 

"If you thought you were doing me a favour, Harry Potter, you'd better think again!" Ginny hissed, not even acknowledging his question. "You think I couldn't have lived with it if you had beaten me to the position? But no, you won't even grace the tryouts with your presence to spare me the embarrassment, like a perfect gentleman! You know what, Harry, I might even have beaten you, but now we'll never know, will we?"

 

Harry suddenly felt even more tired than before. Perhaps Ron was right, and he didn't know Ginny all that well, but he could still see the pain and hurt behind the angry facade, and they both knew none of it had anything to do with Quidditch. "Ginny, calm down, please. I won't try out for the team because I don't want to play Quidditch this year, not because I want to do you a favour. My decision had nothing to do with you, believe me."

 

Ginny's face went strangely blank, a look that made Harry more uneasy than her anger before. "Well, am I ever glad to hear that." She stood up and left before Harry got a chance to reply – not that he'd have had any idea what to say to her.

 

Ron shot him a meaningful look over the top of Hermione's head, but Harry quickly focused his attention on his breakfast again and pretended he hadn't seen it.

 

* * *

 

Cursing under his breath, Harry sprinted along the silent corridors of the dungeons. He was running late for Defence thanks to Professor Slughorn, who had held him back after class and pestered him with questions about his well-being since his performance during the first lesson had been rather poor. It had taken Harry a while to disentangle himself; he couldn't very well tell Slughorn that he hadn't lost his alleged knack for Potions, but just didn't have Snape's personal notes to help him through the class any longer. There was a rather painful irony in this, but Harry didn't dwell on it; the topic of Severus Snape was high on the list of things he tried not to think about at the moment.

 

It was quite a long way from the Potions dungeon to the Defence classroom, and Harry was out of breath before he was halfway there. Shaking his head at his own stupidity, he stopped running and continued his way at a normal walking pace. It was so tempting to slip back into the familiar old schoolboy routine, but he knew he wouldn't be able to fool himself in the long run. After everything that had happened, it was ridiculous to pretend that he would ever care about things like house points or detentions again, so he might just as well stop right now.

 

He was ten minutes late when he finally reached the Defence classroom, resigned to the fact that was going to make a bad first impression with the new teacher. With a shrug, Harry opened the door; if there was any subject where he didn't have to worry about his performance, it was Defence, so he supposed the new professor would just have to live with it.

 

He'd planned to quietly slip into the classroom, but he froze on the threshold when he was greeted by the sound of a cold, horribly familiar voice. "And here's Mr Potter, fashionably late. Ten points from Gryffindor, for old time's sake."

 

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, the feeling of surrealism stronger than ever. _So much for not thinking about Severus Snape._


	3. Chapter 3

It took Harry a few seconds until he remembered that he was still standing in the classroom door with his mouth hanging open and his eyes glued to the front wall of the room, where the blackboard had been pushed aside to make room for the life-sized portrait of a dark-haired, sallow-skinned man in long black robes.

 

He quickly closed both his mouth and the door and slipped into the nearest free seat, his eyes never leaving Snape's portrait. " _You_ are the new Defence teacher?"

 

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Your grasp of the obvious is astounding as ever, Mr Potter. I explained the rather... unusual situation to the class five minutes ago, but since you chose to be late, you will just have to accept it." Snape's portrait obviously had the same hawk-like observation skills which the man himself had possessed, because he added, "And don't you dare disrupt my class _again_ by trying to question Mr Longbottom, or it will be detention for both of you."

 

Harry had been leaning towards Neville who was sitting next to him, but now he quickly straightened up again and held the portrait's gaze, surprised by how calm he felt. "You can't seriously believe that I still give a damn about points or detentions."

 

He knew he'd never have got away with a remark like that while Snape had lived, but it seemed that he wasn't the only one whose perspective had changed, because the man in the portrait merely shrugged. "Be that as it may, you are here to finish your education, so I expect you to behave as it befits a student, not a war veteran. If you can't or won't do that, get the hell out of my class. Do we understand each other?"

 

Harry gave him a brisk nod. "Perfectly, Sir." He doubted that he'd ever really feel like a schoolboy again, but if he wanted to make it into Auror training, he'd have to grit his teeth and at least pretend convincingly.

 

* * *

 

Harry was just about to follow Ron and Hermione out of the Defence classroom after the end of the lesson when Snape's voice held him back. "Mr Potter, stay behind for a moment. You too, Mr Malfoy."

 

Harry's head whipped around to where Draco Malfoy, who'd still been gathering his books and notes, seemed to have frozen in mid-move. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Ron giving him a quizzical look as he shuffled out the door. With a shrug, Harry shouldered his book bag and approached the portrait, from which Snape was watching him and Draco with an impatient expression. Draco only followed Harry when the other students had left.

 

"There was no one who dared to take the Defence post, was there." It wasn't really a question, and Harry half expected Snape not to answer at all, but the man in the portrait nodded.

 

"Apparently, the Dark Lord's curse is still feared even after his death. It's completely irrational, of course, but that is of no matter. This is no ideal solution, but the Headmistress asked me to keep teaching until she finds a proper replacement."

 

"I didn't know there even was a portrait of you."

 

Snape's face twisted as if he'd bitten into something sour. "You may not like it, Potter, but I _was_ Headmaster of this school. The portrait magic works for every Head of Hogwarts, whether the Chosen One approves of him or not."

 

"It's good to know you're still here, Professor." These were the first words Harry had heard Draco speak since the day of the final battle, and he had to admit that they sounded sincere. He fleetingly wondered whether Draco was aware of Snape's true allegiances by now.

 

The corner of Snape's mouth moved up for a second. "You know perfectly well that I'm not, Mr Malfoy – this is merely a magical portrait. Still, I appreciate the sentiment." His face took on his customary scowl when he continued, "There's something I need to discuss with the two of you. I have spoken to the Headmistress about my concerns – like I said, I'm merely a portrait, and even though I possess the knowledge and experience Severus Snape gathered during his lifetime, I do not have any magical abilities of my own, which is a serious handicap for a Defence teacher. I will be able to teach my students magical theory, but it is beyond my ability to give practical demonstrations. I will require assistance for that, and the Headmistress suggested I pick a student or two from each class for this task."

 

He fixed Harry with a piercing gaze. "You, Mr Potter, were the logical choice for this class, given that you were teaching defensive magic to your fellow students in your little guerrilla group."

 

"You are asking _me_ to be your assistant?" Harry wasn't quite sure what to think. "I know you helped me last year and everything, but I thought you still hated my guts!"

 

Snape's expression turned stony. "My personal feelings, or yours, for that matter, are completely irrelevant here, and I'd prefer it if they remained that way. All I ask of you is your help with the task of providing the students of your year with an adequate education. Will you give it?"

 

"Yes, of course." Harry didn't even need to think about it – Snape was right, his conflicted feelings towards the man were of no consequence if he could make himself useful. Besides, he _had_ enjoyed the DA training sessions during fifth year.

 

"Wait a moment." Harry had almost forgotten about Draco's presence. "You _helped_ Potter last year? Is that why McGonagall didn't burn your portrait?" Harry looked over to where Draco was standing, an expression of dawning comprehension on his face. "You really were a spy for the Order, weren't you? Aunt Bella always swore you were double-crossing the Dark Lord, but he wouldn't listen to her."

 

Snape seemed mildly surprised. "I was aware of that, but I never knew that you suspected me too."

 

"I didn't," Draco replied with a shrug. "After everything that had happened –"

 

"Mr Malfoy," Snape interrupted him brusquely, "this is neither the time nor the place for a discussion of my loyalties. I'm asking you, too, whether you are willing to help me with teaching this class."

 

If Harry was taken aback by this, it was nothing compared to Draco's obvious astonishment. "You've got Potter, what do you need _me_ for?"

 

"While Mr Potter has extensive knowledge on defensive magic, I'm fairly sure that he is entirely unfamiliar with the very nature of Dark Magic itself. I do believe that one needs to understand the thing one is up against – and this is where I'm planning to rely on your experience with the subject."

 

Draco seemed less than pleased with the answer. "Oh, right, and if it turns out that I know magic I'm not supposed to –"

 

"Mr Malfoy, I asked you precisely _because_ you know magic you're not supposed to." Snape was beginning to sound impatient. "Do you really think anyone is going to care, now that we've seen Unforgivables thrown around like Tickling Charms by Ministry employees and Order members alike? I'm not trying to get you into trouble, I merely intend to put the knowledge you possess to good use. Well?"

 

After a moment of stubborn silence, Draco shrugged. "Fine."

 

Snape rolled his eyes. "Your enthusiasm is appreciated, Mr Malfoy. If I need either of you to prepare something for a specific lesson, I will let you know in time." With a disdainful look that Snape himself couldn't have managed better in his lifetime, the portrait added, "I daresay it's going to be an interesting year."

 

* * *

 

"Potter."

 

When Harry turned around, Draco was still standing in front of the Defence classroom they'd just left, his book bag clutched to his chest as if he needed something to hold on to. "Yes?"

 

Draco took a deep breath; it looked like he were steeling himself for what he was going to say. "I wanted to thank you."

 

"For what?" Harry asked blankly; he had no recollection of doing or saying anything during their talk with Snape that Draco owed him any gratitude for.

 

"For saving my life." Draco hesitated for a moment, but then continued. "I'd be as dead as Crabbe if it hadn't been for you."

 

Harry wouldn't have thought that Draco was ever going to mention the events in the Room of Requirement, but now that the impossible had happened and Draco had actually _thanked_ him, he felt oddly embarrassed. "Yeah, well, you're welcome."

 

"Why did you do it?"

 

The question sounded strangely detached, as if they weren't discussing events that had almost cost Draco his life. Harry had no idea where this was supposed to go, and he was starting to get annoyed. "Would you rather if I hadn't?"

 

"No, of course not." Draco took a step closer, and Harry had to fight the momentary urge to reach for his wand. "But I've been wondering ever since – we were trying to kill you, why did you save me?"

 

"You weren't trying to kill me," Harry reminded him, "you even tried to stop Crabbe and Goyle."

 

"I only reminded them that the Dark Lord wanted you alive."

 

Now it was Harry's turn to take a step forward, and it filled him with satisfaction to see how Draco visibly kept himself from shrinking back. "Don't give me that, Malfoy; you couldn't have cared less about Voldemort at this point. I saw you in his company, and I didn't get the impression that you wanted to be there."

 

Draco paled. "What do you mean, you saw me?"

 

Harry tapped the scar on his forehead. "This little souvenir I got from him? It used to let me look through his eyes every now and then. Remember that time when he made you torture Rowle? You didn't seem thrilled with your precious Dark Lord then."

 

Draco's eyes had gone wide; it gave Harry a vicious kind of pleasure to see him so shocked. Out of a sudden sense of spite, he added, "By the way, how is your mother?"

 

Draco's posture tensed even further at this. "Why would you care about my mother?"

 

"Well, she _did_ save my life out there in Voldemort's camp." Harry wondered for a moment if Narcissa had ever mentioned to anyone that it had been her betrayal that eventually brought about Voldemort's downfall. "You should be glad, you'd owe me a life debt if she hadn't settled the score for you."

 

It was obvious from Draco's expression that he had no idea what Harry was talking about. "Mother – she saved your life? How? When?"

 

Harry gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Voldemort told her to check whether I was really dead after he'd hit me with the Killing Curse. She told him that I was – after asking me if you were still alive. Since I answered her question, I'm pretty sure she noticed that he hadn't killed me."

 

"So you weren't really dead when they brought you back to the school?"

 

Harry rolled his eyes. "Malfoy, if I'd really been dead, I wouldn't be standing here, would I?"

 

"That's what everyone is saying, though." Draco looked as if he still had trouble digesting what he'd just heard. "That you'd died and managed to come back from the dead somehow."

 

"No one comes back from the dead," Harry replied harshly; this was a topic he wasn't ready to go into. He had tried very hard to ignore the rumours that were rampant ever since the final battle – he'd told no one but Ron and Hermione what had really happened during that night, and although he hadn't specifically asked them to keep it to themselves, he was sure that they hadn't spread the story around. "I wasn't dead – ask your mother if you don't believe me. Oh, and tell her thanks from me while you're at it. I suppose she won't care very much, but if you can manage to be civil for the first time in your life, then so can I."

 

With that, he turned around and walked away. There was no sound indicating that Draco had moved at all; he was probably still standing in the corridor, staring after Harry, but Harry didn't look back to check.

 

* * *

 

Since it was lunch time, Harry headed for the Great Hall out of habit, but when he was at the door and heard the clatter of cutlery and the chatting of hundreds of voices inside, he realised that he wasn't hungry at all. It was a bright, breezy day outside, and the idea of a bit of sunshine suddenly seemed much more inviting than lunch.

 

Harry stepped outside the main gate and ambled along the footpath that led to the lake shore without really paying attention to where he was going. He still wasn't fully over the reappearance of Snape, even though it was only in the form of a portrait. His thoughts kept returning to the snippets of Snape's life he'd seen in the Pensieve, snippets that still didn't fit together with Harry's own memories of the man he'd known and hated for seven years.

 

His musings were cut short by the sound of a cheerful voice calling out to him. "Hello, Harry!"

 

Looking around, Harry spotted Luna Lovegood sitting cross-legged under a tree. She'd waved at him from her seat at the Ravenclaw table during the Welcoming Feast, but he had had no opportunity to talk to her yet. Harry was honestly glad to see her; Luna, with all her strangeness and her belief in the oddest things, had a way of making him feel at ease around her.

 

He walked over to the tree and sat down on the grass beside her. Today she had what seemed to be a bunch of owl feathers dangling from a green cord around her neck; the earrings she wore looked as if they'd been Muggle paper clips in a former life.

 

"Hi, Luna, how are you?"

 

She gave him one of the intense stares she was so good at and smiled dreamily. "Better than I've been for some time, I think. You?"

 

"Same." Right now, Harry even felt like it was true; compared to what they'd all been through, the things that currently troubled him were small inconveniences at best. "Did you have a good summer?"

 

It felt strange to ask such a question – a question that sounded as if the months separating them from a year of war had just been another school holiday. Luna, however, merely nodded. "I helped Dad repair the house and get the _Quibbler_ going again. He wants me to tell you that he's very sorry for what he did to you."

 

"Tell him it's okay." The answer came out before Harry had thought about it, but he realised that he meant it. "Don't get me wrong, I wasn't thrilled at the time, but I know why he did it. Is he all right after the time in prison?"

 

"It's very nice of you to ask. He's fine." Luna smiled again. "He says he wanted to lose a bit of weight anyway, and Azkaban saved him the trouble of going on a diet. Speaking of diet, I've brought sandwiches. Would you like one?"

 

Now that she held out a sandwich to him, Harry suddenly felt hungry. "Yes, thank you. So they're giving you picnic food, now that you're Head Girl?"

 

"Oh no!" Luna replied seriously, her eyes widening even more. "There are no extra privileges, except that I've got my own room because Neville has one too, and Professor McGonagall said it would be unfair otherwise. I went to the kitchens for the sandwiches; the elves are always happy when a student asks for food."

 

Given how Ravenclaws got into their common room, Harry wasn't surprised to hear that Luna had figured out the way to get into the kitchens. "Do you like your room? Neville keeps saying he would have preferred the dormitory."

 

"Oh, I don't know about that." Luna pondered the question for a moment. "Dormitories are fun sometimes, but it's nice to have a place of my own. I can work there if it's too loud in the common room, and I still have a lot of catching up to do from last year. Besides, it makes it harder for people to nick my stuff. And," she turned to give Harry a brilliant smile, "my friends are in Gryffindor anyway, remember?"

 

Harry had his mouth full and couldn't reply, so he simply grinned in return.

 

Somehow, Luna had just managed to make him feel all right about being back at Hogwarts for the first time.

 

* * *

 

Ron watched him like a hawk when they went to bed that evening, as if he wanted to make absolutely certain that Harry wouldn't get the chance to put up a Silencing Charm. Harry was torn between feeling mortified and a little bit touched by Ron's concern for him, but he still was determined not to let Ron notice his nightmares any more. When the sound of Ron's even breathing told him that his roommate had finally fallen asleep, Harry quietly felt around for his wand on the bedside table and cast the charm. Then he lay back again and closed his eyes, concentrating hard to keep his thoughts from wandering into unwelcome directions.

 

He had almost drifted off when he suddenly recalled the strange conversation with Draco Malfoy outside the Defence classroom. Draco really hadn't known about his mother saving Harry's life... Harry remembered the cautious, surprisingly gentle touch of Narcissa Malfoy's hands on his face and chest, the frantic urgency in her voice when she'd asked him if her son was still alive.

 

An image flashed through his mind, like a snapshot of a scene he'd only witnessed in passing in the commotion that had followed Voldemort's death: Lucius and Narcissa with their arms around their son, clutching Draco as if they were afraid someone might tear him away from them again, the three blond heads bent together so closely that their faces weren't visible. None of them had seemed to notice anything that was going on around them; they had held on to each other as if there was nothing else in the world that mattered to them.

 

It was the last thing Harry remembered before sleep overtook him at last.


	4. Chapter 4

_"You've been so brave – it's all right now, we're here with you..."_

_He felt his mother's arms around him, the brush of her silky hair against his cheek as she pulled him closer – when had he grown taller than she was? – and held him so tight that it almost hurt._

_"I'm so proud of you, my boy." His father's arm around his shoulders was strong and reassuring, the smiling face almost a mirror image of his own but for the colour of the warm brown eyes._

He held on to both of them and felt the grief and pain and fear fade into nothingness, leaving nothing but blissful, peaceful contentment behind. He'd made it through, he was with them – he was home.

_"Not quite, my dear, but soon." His mother's voice was soft and sweet, but the arms that had held him a moment ago were gone, their lingering warmth snuffed out by the bite of the chilly evening air. Dusk was falling quickly; when he looked up, his parents were merely pale, shimmering outlines against the looming dark mass of the forest in the distance. He felt a cold, sick dread rise like acid bile in his throat when they held out their hands towards him, beckoning him._

_"Come with us – just a little bit further, and it will be done... come, Harry, there's nothing to be afraid of..."_

_But he knew they were lying, that a terror beyond imagination was waiting for him in the darkness, that they were trying to lure him into walking towards his doom. All the happiness he'd ever known was gone; he felt betrayed and alone, and he'd never been so afraid in his life._

_"No, you won't make me – let me be, please..."_

_"It's only death, Harry, nothing more – stop fighting, it's no use, it will all be over if you only –"_

 

"NO!"

 

Harry sat bolt upright in bed, breathing hard, his own cry still ringing in his ears. It took him a few seconds until he remembered where he was and that there was no need to fret, that he'd just been dreaming again. The Silencing Charm had held, too – in the bed next to him, Ron was still fast asleep.

 

Harry took a deep breath and waited for his racing pulse to return to normal before he dared to lie down again. He had hoped that things would get better once he'd got used to being back at Hogwarts, but it had been almost a week since the beginning of the new school year now, and the nightmares still kept returning with merciless regularity. He was getting heartily sick of waking up drenched in cold sweat and shaking with horror at least once a night, but no amount of concentration had managed to banish the troubling dreams so far.

 

With a sigh, Harry closed his eyes and racked his brain for something, a memory, an image, that would be powerful enough to keep the nightmares at bay and grant him a few hours of peaceful sleep. At long last, he fell back on his favourite fantasy; he was past caring whether Ron found it ridiculous or not. Harry concentrated with all his might and pictured the gleaming scarlet steam engine of the Hogwarts Express among hundreds of children in school robes who were milling around on platform nine and three-quarters. He was there with Ginny at his side, Ron and Hermione were laughing and teasing each other, and there was a small, warm hand clutching his...

 

_...the boy had vivid green eyes and unruly black hair, but there was no scar on his forehead, no memories of cupboards and dead parents in his past. He looked timid and very small among the other, much taller students, but Harry smiled down at him and saw the fear in the boy's eyes disappear. When he looked up, he spotted Draco Malfoy, half-hidden by a cloud of steam from the engine. The steam thinned, and for a moment, Draco's face stood out in sharp relief against the shifting mist as he gave Harry a curt nod and turned away. Harry nodded back, bewildered; he suddenly felt alarmed and uneasy, and the little boy next to him gave him a wide-eyed, worried look, but there was no reason to be worried, none at all, because everything was well..._

 

* * *

 

It was late morning when Harry woke again and blinked owlishly in the brilliant sunlight that filled the small room. For a moment, he was convinced that he'd overslept, but then he remembered that it was Saturday, which meant that he'd finally managed to sleep in without waking up screaming. He'd even had a quite nice dream, one he'd had before – yes, it had been the one with Ginny and their children and the Hogwarts Express. Harry snuggled back into his pillow and tried to hold on to feeling of happiness and contentment that he remembered from the dream, but something was off. Despite the pleasant dream, he felt strangely uneasy, as if there'd been something that was not supposed to –

 

_Malfoy._

 

Once again, Harry sat bolt upright in bed, the lingering remains of peace and happiness gone completely as the memories came flooding back. Draco Malfoy had been there, smack in the middle of his favourite fantasy. It felt like a violation, a defilement of what had until now been the most treasured, safest retreat for Harry's mind whenever reality got too overwhelming.

 

With a muttered curse, Harry jumped out of bed and reached for his clothes. He was profusely grateful when Ron snored on; if he woke up now, Ron would notice that something was wrong and start pestering him, and Harry was convinced that he would die of mortification before he could ever let Ron know what he'd been dreaming. This had gone far enough, and he was going to put a stop to it before things got completely out of hand.

 

* * *

 

During his frequent visits to the Hospital Wing in the years before the war, Harry had learned to judge the severity of his situation by Madam Pomfrey's expression. As long as she was curt and stern, everything was going to be all right; if she became snappish and impatient, there was reason for concern. Once she showed something akin to compassion, things were quickly going from bad to worse.

 

Therefore, he was not at all reassured by the look on the nurse's face when he'd made his request, because Madam Pomfrey seemed to be fighting back tears.

 

"I'm very sorry, Potter, but I'm afraid I can't help you."

 

"What?" It was the first time Harry had ever heard that sentence from her. "All I'm asking for is some Dreamless Sleep Potion. I haven't been sleeping well lately, and – "

 

She cut him off with a gesture towards the chair in front of her desk. "Have a seat."

 

Bewildered and more than a bit annoyed, Harry sat down. Madam Pomfrey fixed him with a piercing gaze and asked with a gentleness that Harry found thoroughly alarming, "How bad are your nightmares?"

 

The question was unexpected, but Harry couldn't quite get himself to lie. "Bad."

 

"Potter... Harry... please listen to me." Her voice was firm, belying the worried look in her eyes. "There have been at least twenty students with the same request so far this week. It's only to be expected; you have all been through things that most adults would find difficult to cope with. But I've talked at length with the Headmistress, and we both agree that Dreamless Sleep Potion is no solution. The Potion is not made for constant use; it has rather severe side-effects, and it's addictive in the long run. You need to find a way to live with everything that has happened, not just to suppress the nightmares it causes. In your case, Harry, I would strongly suggest that you talk to a trained counsellor; there are several experts among the staff at St Mungo's, and I could –"

 

"Forget it," Harry interrupted her. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was the fact that he was never going to discuss everything that had happened with a stranger who tried to poke around in his brain. "I don't mean to be rude, Madam Pomfrey, but that's not an option."

 

She merely sighed. "I had a feeling that you were going to say that. Will you then at least promise me that you'll talk to _someone_? Choose someone you trust, a friend you feel close enough to to discuss how you feel. I know you quite well by now, Harry, and you have an unfortunate tendency to think that you need to do everything alone. This isn't something you can sort out all by yourself, believe me."

 

Harry chewed his lower lip, uncertain how to answer her. Ron and Hermione had their own problems to deal with, and it didn't seem fair to burden them with his troubles on top of that. Apart from them, he couldn't think of anyone he was willing to confide in. They all looked up to him as the vanquisher of Voldemort, the hero of the second war – how could he possibly admit to any of them that he was afraid of a few bad dreams?

 

"Is that the only advice you can give me?" He hated how small his voice sounded, as if he were a frightened child instead of someone who had left his childhood behind for good on the day of Cedric Diggory's death.

 

"Well, not quite," Madam Pomfrey admitted. "There's something else, although it's only a temporary solution. How specific are your nightmares? Do the scenarios change, or are the dreams focussed on one particular memory?"

 

Harry closed his eyes for a moment and tried to recall the nightmares he'd had during the last months. They hadn't all been identical (Draco Malfoy's appearance in an otherwise pleasant dream last night, for example, had been entirely new), but the overall pattern was clear enough. "They change a bit, but there's one memory that keeps coming up over and over again. What difference does it make, though?"

 

"In the case of a specific event that the patient finds impossible to cope with, a Pensieve can be of help," Madam Pomfrey answered. She was back to her usual businesslike behaviour now, and Harry was relieved that she didn't ask questions about the nature of the memory he kept dreaming about. "I would strongly advise against removing the memory in question for good, but it might help to get rid of it for a while until you feel able to face it again. You could also view it inside the Pensieve before you put it back where it belongs; a different perspective might help you to accept what happened and learn to live with it."

 

It wasn't what Harry had been hoping for, but it was probably better than nothing if he ever wanted to sleep undisturbed again. "That sounds promising. Do you have a Pensieve I could use?"

 

Madam Pomfrey shook her head. "The only Pensieve in this school belonged to Professor Dumbledore. Professor McGonagall has given me permission to send students who wish to use it to her office. I'll let her know that you're interested; she'll summon you when she has time for you."

 

* * *

 

Harry had expected Professor McGonagall to send for him within a few hours, but several days passed without a word from her. He had no idea why she kept him waiting; it wasn't as if the nightmares were going to go away by themselves. It was becoming harder and harder to hide from Ron what was going on, and Harry was struggling not to let his growing irritation show. The fact that he hadn't got a full night's sleep ever since school had started didn't help, either; there were moments when he was so tired and cranky that he wanted nothing more than to lash out at the next person who so much as looked at him funny.

 

As long as there were no other solutions available, Harry did his best to bury himself in his schoolwork. It took his mind off things, and poring over his books until he was so exhausted that he almost collapsed on top of them at least helped him to fall asleep quickly once he'd finally made it into bed – even if he'd inevitably wake up from another nightmare a few hours later.

 

It was strange, in a way, how quickly he found himself slipping back into the familiar routine of school. Most of the time, it seemed as if the events of the previous year had never happened – nobody was keen on discussing them, classes went on as before, and even though the slight feeling of surrealism never fully disappeared, it was almost possible to pretend that everything had indeed gone back to normal without a hitch.

 

Sometimes, however, there were moments when the mask of normality the whole school was wearing slipped a bit. Harry got used to walking in on younger students crying in a corner and quickly learned that it was best to look the other way and pretend he hadn't seen them. He noticed the way Ron would sometimes stop himself just in time before mentioning Fred's name, and how Hermione paled slightly whenever the post owls delivered a letter from her parents. Harry became very adept at avoiding painful memories – he knew better than to let his thoughts dwell on Fred, Lupin, Colin, or Tonks, yet every now and then, the ever-present grief would catch up with him through little things that slipped by his defences. More than once, he caught himself looking up from his breakfast to check the flock of owls coming through the windows for a speck of white before he remembered that Hedwig wasn't going to be among them any more. One evening, he found a pair of mismatched socks at the bottom of his trunk and sat staring at them for half an hour because he couldn't bring himself to throw them away, given how much Dobby would have liked them.

 

Classes were a relief; now that the old curriculum had been reinstated, the teachers were doing their best to make the students catch up with everything they had missed for one reason or the other, and Harry was thankful for the way the workload kept taking his mind off things. He had been rather apprehensive about Snape's classes and the prospect of having to work together with Draco Malfoy, but so far, Snape had mostly limited himself to theoretical lectures and had only asked Harry once to demonstrate a few simple Shield Charms. Draco hadn't even looked at Harry ever since their talk in the corridor, and Harry was relieved that he didn't have to deal with him on top of everything else right now.

 

Ginny, too, didn't seem too keen on talking to him, but Harry wasn't overly worried about that. In spite of what Ron had said, Harry was still confident that he and Ginny would be able to work things out eventually. They had all the time in the world, and he was willing to be patient and wait for the right moment. The knowledge that he would have Ginny back at some point was like a shining beacon in the distance, helping him to find his way through the murky twilight of the present. Whenever he woke up from another nightmare, he would think of her and try to picture moments from the future they would have together – the Christmas scene had become his new favourite now that Draco Malfoy's inexplicable appearance had ruined the Hogwarts Express scene for good.

 

Still, every evening, he went to bed dreading the dreams the night would bring and hoping that the next day, McGonagall would finally let him get rid of the memory that kept haunting him in his sleep.

 

* * *

 

Double Transfiguration was the last class on Friday afternoon, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief when McGonagall held him back after the end of the lesson.

 

"Potter, do you have any plans for the weekend yet?"

 

This wasn't quite what Harry had been expecting. "Well, yes, I was planning to go and see my godson on Sunday." It still felt strange to refer to Teddy as 'my godson', but somehow, Harry found that he liked the sound of it.

 

McGonagall pursed her lips. It was no secret that she still wasn't keen on the fact that Harry had insisted on being allowed to leave the school whenever he wanted. Harry knew perfectly well that McGonagall would never have let anyone else get away with such an outright breach of school tradition, but this was the one matter where he was determined to play the Saviour card if he had to. He was one of only two people Teddy Lupin had left in the world; he owed it to Remus and Tonks to look after their son and be there for him as best he could.

 

"Very well," she said after a moment; it wasn't lost on Harry how clipped her voice had become, but he knew that she wouldn't keep him from using the Pensieve just because she was annoyed with him. "Could you fit it into your busy schedule to come to my office Saturday morning, ten o'clock? There are a few things that need to be discussed."

 

"Erm, yes, of course. Professor, did Madam Pomfrey ask you if – "

 

But McGonagall silenced him with a glance before he could finish the question. Saviour of the wizarding world or no, she still had a way of making him feel five years old when she looked at him like that. "There will be time for that tomorrow, Potter. Ten o'clock; the password is 'tabby'."

 

* * *

 

Harry's heart was in his throat when the spiral staircase took him up to the Headmistress's office the next morning. The nightmares had been particularly vicious last night, and the thought of finally getting rid of them was making him feel giddy and strangely apprehensive at the same time.

 

To his surprise, he could hear the murmur of several voices through the heavy oak door. It was impossible to make out words, but besides McGonagall, Harry was sure he recognised Professor Slughorn and another, even deeper voice that was familiar although he couldn't place it. Had McGonagall thought he wanted an audience for this?

 

His apprehension growing, Harry reached for the brass knocker and noticed how the voices inside fell silent immediately. Then the door swung open, and Harry realised with a feeling of dismay that he was in for an unexpected meeting with the Minister for Magic.


	5. Chapter 5

 

"Harry, it's good to see you again." The Minister rose from his seat and extended his hand. Harry shook it, but didn't return the smile Shacklebolt gave him.

 

"Hello, Minister."

 

"It's still Kingsley to you, Harry." Shacklebolt gave him a sharp look, as if daring him to contradict. "Sweet Merlin, you look like shit."

 

Professor McGonagall harrumphed loudly, but Harry couldn't help grinning. Shacklebolt's honest bluntness was oddly refreshing, and of course, two could play that game. "You're too kind. What the hell are you doing here?"

 

Now even Slughorn looked a little scandalised, but the Minister laughed out loud. "I suppose I deserved that. Have a seat, then, there's something I need to discuss with you."

 

Harry sat down on the empty chair between Shacklebolt and Slughorn, his uneasiness returning full force. "Who's dead?"

 

Shacklebolt seemed taken aback for a moment; then he shook his head. "No, nothing of that kind. I'm sorry if I made you think that something was wrong; there are just a few things you should know about. Headmistress?"

 

McGonagall picked up a piece of parchment from her desk and handed it to Harry. "As you can imagine, it is becoming necessary for the Ministry to finally issue some kind of official statement about what happened during the Battle of Hogwarts. Minister Shacklebolt has been able to keep the _Prophet_ at arm's length so far, but the rumours they keep making up to compensate for the lack of actual information are getting worse every day." Harry opened his mouth to interrupt her, but she silenced him with one of her withering looks. "No, Potter, I haven't forgotten that you said you weren't going to give any kind of testimony. I still think it's regrettable, but I'm going to respect your decision."

 

"Of course, Rita Skeeter will say that the compulsion to keep things quiet is another trait you picked up from Albus Dumbledore, my boy," Slughorn added with a wink.

 

Without thinking, Harry turned his head to where Dumbledore's portrait hung behind McGonagall's desk, but the gilded frame was empty. He experienced a brief twinge of disappointment, but there was something else too – something that almost felt like relief.

 

"Thank you, Horace," McGonagall said coolly. "Please read through the parchment I gave you, Potter; it's an account of the events which I have drafted together with the Minister and Professor Slughorn in his capacity as Deputy Headmaster. If there's a passage you want altered, just say so."

 

Harry skimmed the text that was written in McGonagall's copperplate script. He could see at first glance that the Headmistress and the Minister, who didn't possess most of the key information anyway, had even carefully censored plenty of things they _did_ know about to come up with a report that barely deserved the name. It sounded very important and official, but the basic message was hardly more than, _Voldemort attacked, tried to kill Harry Potter but botched it up again, and got killed for good this time_.

 

With a shrug, Harry handed the parchment back to McGonagall. "It's fine with me, but I doubt the press will be satisfied with that."

 

"That's their problem, not mine," the Headmistress replied, "and before you ask, reporters are still banned from the Hogwarts grounds, and I will uphold the ban for as long as you and your classmates are students here. You needn't worry that Rita Skeeter will waylay you in the corridor and ask for an interview."

 

"Of course, it just means that she'll write her book about you without _any_ firsthand information," Shacklebolt threw in casually, and Harry wasn't quite sure whether he was joking or not.

 

"Is that why you're here? To warn me that Rita Skeeter is out to get me?"

 

Shacklebolt waved his hand dismissively. "Like you needed me to tell you that. There are more important things that need to be decided right now, and I want you to hear this before we implement it."

 

He paused for a moment, and it wasn't lost on Harry how the Minister sat up straighter, as if he were about to deliver an official statement. "It's been almost four months since Voldemort's death, but we're still only at the beginning of getting things sorted out at the Ministry. We brought back most of the Muggleborns who had been fired or had fled, but there's just no way we can sack everyone who collaborated with the Death Eaters while Thicknesse was Minister. If we really tried to get to the bottom of this, we'd have to fire at least half the Ministry staff, and frankly, I don't think the current situation is stable enough for us to do that."

 

Shacklebolt paused again, and Harry was under the impression that he chose his words very carefully now. "That's only a part of the bigger problem, though. We need to decide what to do with everyone who supported Voldemort in some way, or profited from his actions, like the snatcher gangs. Problem is, it's difficult to draw a line – dark times bring out the worst in a lot of people, and if we start going after everyone who got his hands dirty, we'll need to build a few more prisons."

 

"And brace ourselves for another war within a couple of years," McGonagall added quietly.

 

Harry suddenly felt cold. "You really believe that?"

 

McGonagall nodded, her expression very serious. "Like the Minister said, Potter, this problem runs too deep to simply cut it out of our society. I think the only way is reconciliation, as far as that is possible."

 

"Is that why you apologised to the Slytherins during the Welcoming Feast?" Harry hadn't planned to ask her about that, but now he couldn't help but make the connection.

 

The Headmistress briefly looked over to Professor Slughorn before she answered. "Partly, yes. Professor Slughorn pointed out to me that the way I addressed Slytherin House in the Great Hall may have come across as a summary dismissal which alienated the Slytherin students even further from the rest of the school."

 

Harry was about to remind her that it had happened after Pansy Parkinson had wanted to send him out to where Voldemort was waiting, after all – but he thought better of it when he remembered that basically, so had Dumbledore.

 

"It may also interest you to hear that none of them were seen among the Death Eaters who came to take the school," Slughorn added gravely.

 

This gave Harry pause. Hadn't Voldemort told Lucius Malfoy that all the Slytherins but Draco had come to him? But then, Crabbe and Goyle had still been at Hogwarts and not with Voldemort's forces either – and now that he thought of it, he really couldn't remember seeing any students in the camp in the Forbidden Forest.

 

"Then why did half of them not come back? If they have nothing to hide, I mean?"

 

"I can think of quite a few reasons," Slughorn murmured as if to himself, but didn't elaborate when Harry shot him a dark look.

 

Shacklebolt cleared his throat. "With all due respect, Headmistress, Slytherin House is your responsibility, not mine, so I'll get to the point of my visit." He was addressing Harry again when he continued, "We've been discussing this for weeks at the Ministry, and frankly, we don't like any of the options we seem to have. Still, like the Headmistress said, our main goal must be to ensure that we don't pave the way for the next Dark Lord by deepening the rift in our society even further. Therefore, we're thinking about a general amnesty for all Death Eater crimes short of homicide committed since the return of Voldemort. Everyone else will get their wrists slapped, be assured that we'll be watching them closely from now on, and receive a pardon. I think it's our best chance for lasting peace; plus, it's probably the best way to make sure that those who _did_ commit murder and have not yet been killed or arrested won't get any help from their former allies."

 

Harry had trouble believing that he'd heard him correctly. "So the likes of Dolores Umbridge will go unpunished?"

 

"Listen, Harry, I don't like this any more than you do." Shacklebolt looked sincere, and he probably was, given that he'd been a member of the Order. "I didn't say it was a perfect solution, but it _was_ the most promising solution we could think of. We will go after the killers, but apart from them, we'll soon have a semblance of normality back. It's what people crave most at the moment; they're tired of bloodshed and turmoil."

 

The last remark hit squarely home, since it summed up how Harry himself felt at the moment. He didn't like the idea of so many crimes going unpunished, but now that he thought about it, he found that he liked the idea of an ongoing struggle even less. Still, there was one thing he had to be certain about.

 

"That means you _are_ still going after Dolohov and Greyback."

 

Shacklebolt's face hardened. "You bet we are. Dolohov has been sighted twice, and it seems that Flitwick's hex left him in rather bad shape, but we've had no luck catching him so far. Greyback was last spotted when he went down in the Great Hall, no sign of him since. We're still none the wiser how they escaped, but it doesn't really matter – the important thing is that we hunt them down as quickly as possible, and we will."

 

"I blame myself for this," McGonagall threw in with a hint of bitterness in her voice. "I should have checked sooner whether all those we had taken down were really dead, especially Greyback – everybody knows how hard it is to kill a werewolf."

 

Harry didn't feel like bringing up that Dolohov _had_ managed to kill Remus.

 

"It's like this, Harry," Shacklebolt continued, as if he hadn't heard McGonagall at all, "if we implement this policy, several rather high-profile followers of Voldemort will go free. It's not just the likes of Umbridge. I'm talking of people like Lucius Malfoy."

 

Harry realised that he wasn't terribly surprised by this – in a way, he'd been waiting for the name Malfoy to be mentioned ever since the Minster had started talking about amnesties. "Lucius Malfoy never killed anyone?"

 

Shacklebolt shook his head, his expression grim. "If he did, he covered his tracks well. There isn't even evidence of him torturing Muggles, or something like that. The slippery bastard seems to have been very careful not to get his precious hands dirty, with the exception of that one time at the Ministry that got him sent to Azkaban."

 

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. As clearly as if it had happened only yesterday, he suddenly remembered the dank, clammy darkness of the Chamber of Secrets, the hiss of Parseltongue and the slithering of huge scales over wet stone.

 

The man who had sent a young girl straight into this death trap would go free. Harry tried to feel fury and outrage at the thought, but all he felt was exhaustion.

 

He thought of the night Voldemort had returned and tried to recall the sound of Lucius Malfoy's voice as he pledged his renewed allegiance to his master. Lucius hadn't seemed particularly happy then – although not nearly as unhappy as he'd been when Voldemort had told him to consider Draco's death his punishment. It seemed wrong somehow, that a man capable of the things Lucius Malfoy had done should be able to love his son so much that he placed his survival above all other concerns. It made it somewhat more difficult to hate him the way he deserved, but then, Harry hadn't been able to work up the energy to truly hate anyone ever since the night of the final battle.

 

In the end, it probably didn't even matter very much any more.

 

When he opened his eyes again, the three adults were watching him carefully, as if he were a bomb that had just started ticking. Harry took a deep breath. "Why are you telling me this? It's not as if my opinion matters when it comes to Ministry politics."

 

Shacklebolt sighed. "Harry, please spare me the humility act, you know damn well that it matters. There is no hope for the Ministry to carry out such a controversial measure if you were to publicly speak up against it. People don't know much about how Voldemort died, but they _do_ know that it was you who finished him for good. If you asked for Lucius Malfoy's head on a platter right now, half the wizarding population would fall over themselves in their hurry to hand it to you."

 

He must have noticed Harry's expression, because he continued in a much gentler tone, "Yes, I know you would never try to undermine my position or anything like that. But the fact remains that there is no single person in wizarding Britain right now whose opinion carries more weight than yours, and I need to make sure that you won't oppose my decisions in this matter before I open a huge can of Flobberworms."

 

Harry resisted the temptation to close his eyes again; he didn't know what to think. Ever since he'd returned to Hogwarts, he had felt like an adult trying – and failing – to impersonate a schoolboy, but now that the Minister for Magic had basically asked for his permission to carry out Ministry policies, it seemed to him that he was little more than a child dressed in a man's clothes, expected to play a part that was beyond his experience and his abilities. He had done everything he could, had been willing to _die_ for them when he saw no other way out – couldn't they finally leave him alone now that everything was over?

 

"Minister," he said at last, hoping he sounded formal enough to hide the fact that he had trouble keeping his voice steady, "do whatever you see fit in this matter, I won't say a word against it to anyone. All I want is to finish my education and lead a normal life, I'm definitely not going to interfere with Ministry politics."

 

The looks of relief all around were impossible to miss – Slughorn heaved a great sigh, McGonagall's tense shoulders slumped the tiniest fraction, and Shacklebolt's serious face broke into a wide grin. "Harry, you have no idea how glad I am to hear that. Stick to it, and I can safely promise you that I won't come bothering you again – that is, unless you have need of the Ministry in any way..."

 

"I really don't think that will be necessary," Harry quickly cut him off before he could continue.

 

Shacklebolt, unfazed by the interruption, kept grinning. "Ah yes, of course. Well, then I suppose you're rid of me until you apply for Auror training. You are still planning to apply, aren't you? The Headmistress told me you wanted to be an Auror since your fourth year."

 

"Er, yes –"

 

"That's really good to know." Shacklebolt stood and held out his hand towards Harry, who took it with a feeling of slight apprehension. "You can't begin to imagine how this will boost the morale of the Corps. They're all pretty down at the moment; they have suffered heavy losses, and it's still fresh on everyone's mind. Knowing that Boy Who Lived Twice will be joining them before long will raise spirits all around like nothing else could."

 

Harry let go of the Minster's hand. "Kingsley, could you – would you mind terribly not telling anyone about it yet?" He didn't know what made him ask the question, but something in Shacklebolt's words had made his stomach clench. "I mean – I'm looking forward to joining, I really am, but I don't want to – to jinx it..."

 

It sounded lame even to himself, and he wasn't surprised by the disappointed look that crossed Shacklebolt's face. Minister or no, Kingsley Shacklebolt was obviously still very much an Auror at heart, and Harry didn't blame him for trying to make things easier to bear for his former colleagues. "If that's what you want, Harry. I'll see you after your NEWTs, then?"

 

Harry nodded glumly and watched in silence as Shacklebolt bade farewell to McGonagall and Slughorn and then disappeared into the green flames of the fireplace. It was very quiet for a moment once he was gone; then McGonagall cleared her throat.

 

"Thank you for attending the meeting, Horace." She wasn't looking at Slughorn, but at Harry when she added, "Now if you don't mind, I believe Mr Potter and I need to discuss a few things in private."

 

* * *

 

"You're really sure about this?" McGonagall's hands were still on the rim of the stone basin she had placed on her desk, as if she were reluctant to let go of it.

 

Harry hesitated. "I'm not sure how a Pensieve actually works, Professor – if I put my memories in there, will I be able to still remember them at all?"

 

"A Pensieve is no Memory Charm, Potter," McGonagall replied, sounding as if she were giving a lecture in her classroom. "You will still possess the intellectual knowledge of what happened – as if you got the facts from a book, or somebody told you about them. It will be the actual memory of the scene in question, the feeling, the emotions, the whole experience of living through it, that will be gone – temporarily, that is, because I strongly advise you against removing a memory for good."

 

"I know," Harry said hastily, "Madam Pomfrey already told me. I'll put it back eventually, I promise. Right now, I just want to stop dreaming about it every night."

 

McGonagall's stern face softened. "Of course. Do you know how it's done?" When Harry shook his head, she reached for her wand. "Then I'll help you the first time; if you ever need to do it again, you can do it yourself. There's no spell or incantation involved, you just need to picture the memory you want to remove as clearly as you can. Ready?"

 

Harry closed his eyes and concentrated. He usually avoided thinking about these moments when he was awake, but now he tried to recall every second of his walk into the forest – the darkness, the cool wind in his face, the smell of the grass under his feet. The memories began flooding in freely now; he remembered the feeling of numb, cold dread, the way how a part of him hadn't wanted to accept that he was really, seriously going to meet his end. He all but felt the cold metal of the Snitch against his lips and the wave of relief that had flooded him when he'd seen the ghostly images appear in front of him and realised that he would not have to go to his death alone, that they would accompany him and help him to see it through as he must.

 

He still saw his mother's smile before him when he opened his eyes again and nodded. "I'm ready."


	6. Chapter 6

The tip of McGonagall's wand touched his temple, and Harry experienced a most curious sensation inside his head. A thread of silvery mist was attached to the wandtip when she slowly pulled it away; it left a strange feeling behind, a kind of emptiness that made him light-headed for a second. Once that had passed, it suddenly became easier to breathe, as if a weight on his chest he hadn't even been aware of had been lifted. He watched McGonagall lower the misty thread into the Pensieve, which seemed to fill up with a swirling, half-transparent liquid. It looked innocent, almost beautiful, and for a moment, Harry could hardly believe that this was the material his nightmares were made of.

 

McGonagall eyed him with an air of apprehension. "Do you feel anything, Potter? Any changes?"

 

"I think so." Harry tore his eyes away from the swirling silver inside the stone basin. "I feel – I'm not sure how to describe it. Better, anyway."

 

"You still remember what the memory was about?"

 

"Yes, absolutely." The images were still there, but it was only now that he discovered he didn't find it difficult to think about them any longer. "I know what happened, but I – I don't _feel_ it any more."

 

"That was the idea." McGonagall gave him a thin-lipped smile. "Do you wish to look at the memory?"

 

Harry took a step back. "No, thanks." When he noticed her expression, he added hastily, "I think I'll wait a bit for that. Perhaps I could look at it before I put it back –?"

 

To his immense relief, McGonagall didn't press the issue. "Very well. Then I will keep it safe for you in the meantime."

 

"Can't I have it?" It seemed wrong somehow to let his memories float around in McGonagall's Pensieve, where anyone might take a peek at them. For the first time, Harry experienced a small twinge of guilt at the memory of sticking his head into some of the worst moments of Snape's life back in his fifth year.

 

"No, Potter." McGonagall's voice was kind, but firm. "Frankly, I don't want you to get tempted to destroy the memory. Don't worry, it's perfectly safe with me – look here." With a wave of her wand, she summoned a clear glass bottle and, with a second wave, siphoned the silvery mist into it. She stoppered it carefully and labelled it with a small piece of parchment reading _H. Potter_. Then she walked over to a heavy wooden cupboard next to the fireplace and tapped it with her wand.

 

His curiosity piqued, Harry took a step closer. The cupboard doors sprang open, revealing a collection of at least two dozens similar bottles in orderly rows. Each of the bottles contained the same swirling liquid and was labelled with a name. The arrangement reminded Harry uncomfortably of the photo of a military cemetery he'd once seen: rows and rows of identical white headstones that bore nothing but the name of the soldier buried underneath. He'd found the sight vaguely disturbing even then, but now that he'd attended so many funerals just a few short months ago, the memory made his stomach turn. When McGonagall placed his bottle next to the others, Harry was momentarily afraid he was going to be sick.

 

As if the Headmistress knew what he was thinking, she closed the cupboard again so quickly that Harry couldn't make out more than two or three of the names on the other bottles. He was sure he'd seen _S. Bones_ and _D. Creevey_ , and the label next to Dennis' bottle might just have read _D. Malfoy_.

 

This, more than anything else, helped Harry get his balance back. The anger that rushed through him was a welcome relief from the choking feeling of grief and guilt that he'd first experienced at the sight of his schoolmates' memories. Draco Malfoy? What on earth would the git remember that he couldn't cope with? He still had his parents, his father wasn't even going to Azkaban, he was back at school with nothing more than a few black looks in his direction...

 

...after spending months in the company of a murderous, power-crazed madman, fearing for himself and his parents, watching Voldemort kill and torture and being forced to participate, witnessing the gruesome death of one of his closest friends –

 

Harry's anger evaporated as quickly as it had flared up, leaving nothing but the familiar feeling of exhaustion behind. The events of the past year had changed so many things; the fact that he no longer seemed able to properly loathe Draco hardly counted among the more important ones.

 

He took a deep breath and pushed the thought away. "Are we done, Professor?"

 

McGonagall gave him another piercing look, but Harry found it easy to return it without blinking. For the first time in weeks, he didn't feel as if he were walking around with a shameful secret at the back of his mind that people might notice if they looked at him closely enough.

 

"Yes, I believe that's it, Mr Potter, unless there is anything else you think we should discuss."

 

"No, thank you, that won't be necessary. I'm fine, really." It wasn't quite true, but there was definitely more truth to the statement than there had been in a while.

 

It was obvious that there were still some things McGonagall wanted to say, but she merely nodded. "Very well, then. Enjoy the rest of your weekend, Potter, and please let me know immediately when you have need of the Pensieve again."

 

Harry wasn't quite sure whether this was an offer to get rid of any other memory that troubled him or an admonition to put this one back where it belonged as soon as possible, but right now, he didn't care. His stomach was growling, reminding him that he hadn't eaten much for the last few days, and he couldn't wait to get down to the Great Hall for lunch.

 

* * *

 

"It seems you've finally got your appetite back, Harry," Hermione said in an approving tone when she noticed that Harry had almost finished his second helping of shepherd's pie.

 

Harry, who had his mouth full, merely shrugged; he didn't particularly like her fussing over him, but he knew she meant well.

 

"What did McGonagall want of you, by the way?" asked Ron, who, as usual, had finished his own lunch in record time. Harry did some quick thinking while he swallowed; he hadn't told Ron about his plan to use the Pensieve, but Ron had heard McGonagall tell Harry to come to her office. Eventually, he decided to let them know about the part of the meeting that was probably of greater interest to them than his troubling memories. They wouldn't like the news, but it was probably better to learn them from him than from the _Prophet_.

 

"Kingsley Shacklebolt was there. He told me there will be an amnesty for all followers of Voldemort who didn't commit murder."

 

Harry wasn't sure how he'd expected Ron and Hermione to react to this, but the meaningful glance they shared definitely came as a surprise. "Wait a moment, did you two know that already?"

 

"Well – yes," Ron admitted after hesitating briefly. "Dad and Percy were talking about it a few times over the summer. They're not happy about it, but Dad says he thinks it's probably the best solution."

 

"I had a long discussion with Percy before I left for Australia," Hermione interjected. "He said it's pretty bad to go to work every day and meet people he wants to punch as soon as he sees them, but they're all trying to cope somehow. He thinks it's impossible to tell who just went along with the way things were done under Thicknesse because they were afraid, and who really liked what was going on. It's a frightening idea, really, that so many people who were never Death Eaters might still have been okay with Muggle-borns being persecuted."

 

"That's what Dad said, too," Ron added with a frown. "That he never knew how wide-spread these things were before – well, before. It's not like they're all going to have a change of heart just because You-Know-How is dead, is it? But Shacklebolt thinks it will be easier to make them come around if he doesn't go after them now."

 

Harry couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. "So you're okay with it? With the likes of Umbridge being pardoned?"

 

Ron's expression darkened. "You don't seriously believe I'm okay with that c–"

 

"Ron!" Hermione interrupted him sternly before he could spit out the profanity that had obviously been on the tip of his tongue.

 

Ron shrugged. "Whatever. At least no one at the Ministry wants to work with her now; Dad told me she's being handed from department to department because everyone tries to get rid of her."

 

Hermione had a dreamy look on her face now. "The Centaur Liaison Office in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures should be perfect for her, don't you think?"

 

Ron stared at her with his mouth open for a moment before he burst out laughing. It had been a while since Harry had heard anyone laugh in his vicinity, and for the fraction of a second, it almost felt as if things were back to normal.

 

"Hermione, that's _brilliant_ ," Ron finally gasped while he wiped tears from his eyes. "Remind me to write Percy about it, I'm sure he'll love the idea!"

 

There was a small, smug smile on Hermione's lips when she answered, "He seemed quite taken with it when I suggested it to him, yes. Said he was going to mention it to the Minister as soon as possible."

 

"God, I love you." Ron leaned in and pressed a quick kiss on her temple, which caused Hermione's cheeks to turn a gentle shade of pink. Harry looked away; he was happy for them, he really was, but he never quite knew how to behave during moments like this. He'd expected Ron and Hermione to get together for quite some time, but now that it had happened, he still wasn't sure how to deal with it. Thankfully, they were rather discreet about it most of the time.

 

"So if you both knew about the amnesty, why didn't you tell me?"

 

"Um." Ron gave Harry an apologetic look. "Sorry, mate, but I wasn't sure how you'd take it. I half expected you to bite someone's head off once you found out."

 

It seemed ironic that this was exactly how Harry had expected _him_ to react, but somehow, Harry felt there was more to it. Between Ron's cautious tone, Hermione's wary expression and the way Shacklebolt had treated him a bit earlier, Harry couldn't help asking himself whether they all thought he was some kind of explosive that had to be handled with extreme care because it might blow up in their faces any moment.

 

He didn't want to dwell on it, though; not when he finally had reason to hope for a peaceful night once he'd managed to get another day behind him.

 

* * *

 

It was a bright, crisp autumn day when Harry stepped out of the main gate, feeling better than he had in weeks after a long night of blissful, dreamless sleep.

 

As he walked down the stone steps to head for the Apparition point outside the school grounds, he briefly wondered whether he'd ever be asked to take his Apparition Test. So far, no one seemed to care that he was Apparating all over the place without a licence – perhaps it was another thing that only the Chosen One got away with. The idea should have been amusing, but it reminded him of the talk with Shacklebolt the day before, which dampened his mood somewhat.

 

"You look very serious for a beautiful Sunday morning."

 

Harry jumped at the sound of Luna's voice next to him; he'd been so lost in thought that he hadn't seen her sitting cross-legged on a chequered blanket on the grass, a book in her lap. She gave him a beaming smile and patted the blanket next to her. "Come sit with me and tell me what's wrong."

 

Harry hesitated for a moment, but he wasn't supposed to arrive at Mrs Tonks' until almost an hour later, so he still had plenty of time. Besides, Luna was a good listener, even if her answers sometimes were a bit weird.

 

"Minister Shacklebolt told me yesterday that it will lift the morale of the Auror corps if I sign up for Auror training."

 

Luna gave him one of her intense stares. "And how is that bad? Don't you want to be an Auror any more?"

 

Now that he heard her ask the obvious question, Harry realised he wasn't as sure about the answer as he'd once been, which was more than just a bit unsettling. Pushing the matter aside for the moment, he answered, "That's not the point, you see – it's that they have no reason to get all excited about it yet, they can't even know whether I'm going to be any good at it!"

 

"Aurors hunt Dark Wizards, and you killed a Dark Lord," Luna pointed out reasonably. "I suppose they think that counts for something."

 

"Maybe." Harry fell silent for a moment, trying to find a way to make her understand what made him so uneasy. It was hard, mostly because he didn't fully understand it himself. "It's just – I don't want to remain The Bloke Who Killed Voldemort my whole life. I want – I want to be what I am, not what I once was, or did, in the past. If I become an Auror, I want them to be glad to have me because I'm good at it, not because I make for a nice figurehead. I didn't think about it before yesterday, but now that Kingsley could barely wait to tell them I was going to join to cheer them up – I don't know." He shrugged, resigning himself to the fact that he couldn't find the words to express what was going through his head. "It probably doesn't matter anyway."

 

Luna was still looking at him as if she were trying to read his mind. "I've told you before that I think you shouldn't be an Auror."

 

Harry was puzzled for a moment before he recalled the conversation they'd once had at Slughorn's party. "Because of some conspiracy thing, wasn't it?"

 

Luna shook her head. "The Rotfang Conspiracy became obsolete when the old Ministry fell, and I doubt they need to start another, now that an ex-Auror is Minister. I just don't think you'd be happy, being an Auror."

 

Harry grinned weakly. "You think I'm not made for conspiracies?"

 

Luna didn't answer; she was looking past Harry towards the steps leading up to the school entrance. Following her gaze, Harry noticed Ginny, who was standing there with her hands balled into fists and an expression reminiscent of an approaching thunderstorm on her face. When Luna raised her hand and waved at her, Ginny threw her a murderous glance, turned around on her heel and stormed up the steps. The heavy oak door slammed shut behind her with an echoing boom.

 

Luna slowly lowered her hand. "I don't think she was happy to see me with you."

 

Harry, who had been staring after Ginny in utter bewilderment, did a double-take at this. "What?"

 

When it finally dawned on him what Luna had meant, he almost burst out laughing. He caught himself just in time; he didn't want to offend her by implying that the idea of Ginny being jealous of her was ridiculous. "Why should she mind? She knows we're friends."

 

Luna gave him another look. "She's having a hard time right now, and that can blow things out of proportion. Besides, you two still haven't got together again, have you?"

 

"No." Harry was beginning to fidget under the intensity of her stare. "The time hasn't been right so far."

 

"Oh." Luna paused for a moment, as if pondering his answer. "But you want to be her boyfriend again?"

 

"Yes, of course I do!" It had come out louder than Harry had intended, but Luna seemed unfazed.

 

"Just like you want to be an Auror?"

 

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again when he realised that he had no idea how to answer that. "Luna, I'm sorry, but I need to get going, Mrs Tonks and Teddy are waiting for me."

 

"Please give them my greetings." Luna was smiling again, and Harry was grateful that she hadn't noticed he'd dodged her question. "Remind Mrs Tonks to keep Teddy away from cauliflowers until he's two, unless she wants him to get a bad case of Purple Placklumps."

 

Harry grinned at this. "I'll make sure to tell her."

 

* * *

 

If Luna had a knack for brightening his mood, it was nothing compared to Teddy's ability to make Harry forget everything around him. As always, the time he got to spend with his godson passed far too quickly, but Harry was still smiling to himself when he Apparated to Hogsmeade in the evening and started walking back to the school. It would be dark soon, but he was in no hurry; he'd already had dinner with Mrs Tonks, and his homework for the weekend was finished. There wasn't anything left to do tonight other than reading a bit or losing a game of chess against Ron if he hadn't wandered off to snog Hermione in a secluded corner.

 

On the whole, it seemed to Harry that this Sunday had been by far the best day he'd had since – well, since much longer than he cared to think about. He was humming the lullaby he'd heard Mrs Tonks sing for Teddy under his breath when he pulled the Hogwarts gate open.

 

His good mood lasted for another two seconds after that, because as soon as he'd stepped over the threshold, he found himself face to face with Draco Malfoy.

 

"Oh thank God, I thought I'd be standing here all night before you graced the school with your presence again!" Draco snapped at him.

 

It was probably just the fact that he'd had a full night's sleep that made Harry keep his cool. "Waiting up for me? That's so sweet of you."

 

Draco's face twisted into a grimace that reminded Harry of a dog baring its teeth. "Really funny, Potter; I'll laugh when I have a moment. And now come on, Snape wants to see us in the Defence classroom."

 

"What, now? On a Sunday evening?"

 

"It's only half past seven, for pity's sake. I can see that you need your beauty nap, but you'll manage somehow." With that, Draco turned on his heel and walked off without checking whether Harry was following him or not.

 

Fuming, Harry ran after him until he caught up; he wasn't going to traipse along in Draco Malfoy's wake. He was a bit surprised that the git would have the nerve to take such a tone with him – had he already learned about the amnesty and now thought that he had nothing to fear from Harry any more?

 

"Did he at least say what he wants from us?"

 

Draco shrugged. "He needs us to prepare a demonstration for tomorrow's Defence lesson."

 

"And he couldn't have told us sooner than the evening before?"

 

"He said you'd find a way to chicken out if you knew too long in advance." Only now did Draco turn his head to look at Harry. "From what I gathered, tomorrow's lesson is going to be about Occlumency."


	7. Chapter 7

"You've got to be kidding me." Harry took a step back from Snape's portrait and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'll let Malfoy into my head when hell freezes over."

 

Snape sighed. "Will you be quiet and listen? All I said so far was that I need the two of you for my lecture on Occlumency tomorrow."

 

"You said you wanted us to _demonstrate_ ," Harry pointed out, "which makes no sense in the first place since there's nothing to see with Occlumency, so why exactly am I wasting my time with this?"

 

"Oh, shut up, Potter," Draco snapped, "you're not the only one who has better things to do. Professor, I hate to admit it, but he's right, no-one will learn anything from watching me or Potter perform Occlumency."

 

"I'm perfectly aware of that, Mr Malfoy," Snape replied coolly. "You and Mr Potter aren't going to use Occlumency against each other. Your classmates need to learn to close their minds, which can only be achieved if someone actually tries to look into them first. I realise you're far more skilled at Occlumency than Legilimency, but –"

 

"– but," Draco interrupted with a grimace, "you still want me to teach Potter Legilimency because I bet those Gryffindors will run away screaming if you suggest they let _me_ use it on them."

 

A corner of Snape's mouth quirked up for a second. "Something like that, yes." His expression became serious again when he turned to Harry. "I want you to do your best here, Potter. It would be far better if Mr Malfoy trained everyone, but I'm afraid he's correct in assuming that most of your classmates would refuse. Your control over your own mind is woefully lacking, but you've still got more experience with it than anyone else at hand. It's up to you to make sure that your fellow students get the best kind of training that's possible under the circumstances."

 

Harry shrugged, ignoring the jibe against his abilities; he reckoned he might have been a lot better at Occlumency from the beginning if Snape hadn't been utter crap at teaching it. "Fine with me. I find it hard to believe that Malfoy would let me look into his thoughts, though."

 

"Why not?" Draco's smile was infuriatingly superior. "It's not as if I couldn't stop you at every turn. I'll teach you how to see the things I decide to let you see, but I really doubt you'll be able to get anywhere in my head where I don't want you."

 

Harry gritted his teeth. "We'll see about that."

 

"Indeed we will. You know the spell, don't you? Then give it a try."

 

Focusing as best he could, Harry raised his wand and pointed it right at Draco, who held his gaze without flinching.

 

" _Legilimens_!"

 

At first, absolutely nothing happened. Harry concentrated harder, trying to see past the pale grey eyes, to reach out with his mind and – there was something, at the fringes of his awareness, a blurry, faded image that gradually became clearer. He pushed forward, meeting no resistance, and suddenly he could...

 

...could look out through someone else's eyes and feel a rush of excitement and cold, controlled fury that was not his own at the sight in front of him: the body of a black-haired boy, frozen in a ridiculous crouching position, on the floor of what looked like a train compartment. He slowly raised his foot and, savouring every second of vindictive pleasure, brought it down hard on the face of the boy on the floor. He felt the crunch of breaking bone under his heel and heard himself say, in a voice that wasn't his, "That's from my father."

 

Then the scene suddenly went dim before his eyes; Harry tried to hold on, but he was pushed back, and before he knew it, he was looking out of his own eyes again into the smug face of Draco Malfoy.

 

"See how little effort it takes me to get you out of my head, Potter? Saw anything?"

 

Harry had to fight down the urge to slap the git, but he was determined not to give him the satisfaction of losing his temper. "I saw you breaking my nose on the Hogwarts Express at the beginning of sixth year."

 

Draco raised an eyebrow, as if he had expected a somewhat more vivid reaction. "Very good. Of course, I did the mental equivalent of shouting it at you, but still, it's a beginning."

 

"That was quite uncalled for, Mr Malfoy," Snape's cold voice interjected. "I'm not here to watch you two settle your schoolboy grudges, so please stick to the matter at hand."

 

Draco made a face. "I hope you don't expect me to show Potter anything he wants to see? Because if you do, I'll have to quote Potter's earlier statement about hell freezing over before that's going to happen."

 

"Is that possible?" Harry cut in, interested despite himself. "Can you make sure someone sees only what you want them to see when they're trying to read your mind?"

 

"Of course you can." Draco seemed surprised by the question. "It's usually done to block someone who's too powerful to be kept out completely. Didn't you know? I thought you already had a bit of training!"

 

Harry shot Snape's portrait a glare. "I did, but it seems that actually teaching me anything wasn't high on my teacher's agenda."

 

"You tried to teach Potter how to completely close his thoughts right away?" Draco, too, was addressing Snape now; he sounded incredulous. "But you must have known that's next to impossible, it took me a year until I was able to do it!"

 

"We didn't have a year back then," Snape replied stiffly. "The situation was grave, so there was no time for baby steps."

 

"No offence, Professor, but my father taught me that trying to take the second step before the first usually accomplishes nothing but falling on your face."

 

Snape gave him a glare that was almost as venomous as it had been during his lifetime. "Well, if you know so much about teaching, Mr Malfoy, I'll leave you to it. I expect Mr Potter to be able to master the basics of Legilimency for the classroom demonstration tomorrow. Good evening to both of you." With that, he turned around and, robes billowing around him, walked out of his frame.

 

"Great. Now what?" Harry hadn't expected that he'd ever be keen on Snape's company, but he'd have preferred him around for this. Being in a classroom with no one but Draco Malfoy for company wasn't exactly his idea of a good time.

 

Draco, however, didn't seem overly fazed; he merely shrugged. "Now we keep training; it isn't as if a magical portrait could have been of much help anyway. Ready for another go, Potter?"

 

"What use would it be?" Harry shot back. "We've established that I can read thoughts you want me to read. That isn't going to help the others when I'm training them, since they haven't learned to project their thoughts that way!"

 

"Well," Draco replied slowly, a predatory glint in his eyes, "then I suppose I will have to teach you a bit of Occlumency after all, won't I? I'll show you how to project, and you can then teach the others. We have to start there anyway; I meant what I said about the time it takes to fully close your mind."

 

Harry had to admit that the suggestion made sense, but that still didn't mean he was about to go with it. "Which part of 'I'm not letting you into my head' did you not get?"

 

Draco gave him a smile that had no humour in it. "Scared, Potter?"

 

A part of Harry desperately wanted to accept the challenge, but he wasn't twelve any more. "I think the events of the past year have established quite clearly who's the coward here, Malfoy."

 

Draco obviously had done a bit of growing up too, because he didn't take the bait either. "Then I don't see what you're worrying about."

 

"Oh, for the – fine, whatever." Harry suddenly was sick of arguing about this; the sooner they got it done, the better. "But I'm warning you, if you try to sneak around in my head, I'll hex you into next week."

 

Draco shrugged. "Like Snape said, I'm not that good at Legilimency anyway – especially not with a wand that isn't mine."

 

It seemed quite unlike the Draco Malfoy Harry knew to admit to a lack of competence – but if the git was hoping to guilt him into giving the Hawthorn wand back that way, he could keep trying until he turned blue in the face. "Whose is it, then? Still your mother's?"

 

"My great-grandfather's." Draco's voice was impassive. "I lost my mother's wand in the fire."

 

Harry tsked. "And your father's wand is gone too – your family seems to go through a lot of them at the moment."

 

"Thankfully, we also _have_ a lot of them," Draco replied archly. "What with each of my ancestors leaving us at least one."

 

"Ah yes, the perks of being pure-blood." Harry did his best to sound equally haughty. "Can we get started now? I haven't got all night!"

 

"Very well." Draco raised the wand, pointing it straight between Harry's eyes. Harry had to fight down the reflex to take up a defensive stance; he knew Draco wouldn't be foolish enough to attack him, but that didn't mean he had to like being held at wandpoint like this.

 

"First, you need to decide what to project. It's easiest if you pick a real memory. Choose a scene that you remember in detail and picture it as clearly as possible – not only what happened, but also how it felt at the time, any colours, smells, sounds you recall. Ideally, you should feel as if you were back there, reliving the memory. Then hold on to it and don't let your thoughts wander, or I'll be able to get past the projection that way. Ready?"

 

Harry nodded. Choosing the memory hadn't been hard, given what Draco had shown him earlier; now he focused with all his might on the image of a bathroom where a white-blond boy was standing hunched over a sink with his back to him. "I'm ready."

 

" _Legilimens_!"

 

Moaning Myrtle was crooning from one of the cubicles, trying to console Draco who wouldn't listen and insisted that no one could help him, that he was going to get killed...

 

And Harry realised, with a shock so huge it seemed to root him to the spot, that Draco was crying. He gasped and gulped and then, with a great shudder, looked up into the cracked mirror and saw Harry staring at him over his shoulder.

 

Draco wheeled around, drawing his wand. Instinctively, Harry pulled out his own. Draco's hex missed Harry by inches, shattering the lamp on the wall beside him; Harry threw himself sideways, while Myrtle was screaming in the background, telling them to stop.

 

Harry slipped as Draco, his face contorted, cried, "Cruci –"

 

"SECTUMSEMPRA!" bellowed Harry from the floor, waving his wand wildly.

 

Blood spurted from Draco's face and chest as though he had been slashed with an invisible sword. He staggered backward and collapsed onto the waterlogged floor with a great splash, his wand falling from his limp right hand.

 

"No –" gasped Harry.

 

Slipping and staggering, he got to his feet and plunged toward Draco, whose face was now shining scarlet, his white hands scrabbling at his blood-soaked chest.

 

"No – I didn't –"

 

Harry did not know what he was saying; he fell to his knees beside Draco, who was shaking uncontrollably in a pool of his own blood. Moaning Myrtle was screaming murder...

 

Then Snape burst in, took in the scene with a single glance and started healing the gaping wounds while Harry was watching, horrified by what he had done, barely aware that he too was soaked in blood and water.

 

"I didn't mean it to happen – I didn't know what that spell did..."

 

Harry was dimly aware of a strange tugging feeling at the fringes of his consciousness, but he didn't pay attention to it. It had, he realised now, been colossally stupid to choose this particular scene – he had only been thinking of getting one over Draco, completely forgetting how shaken he'd been back then, how hard he had tried afterwards not to think about how close he'd come to committing murder. If Snape hadn't –

 

A whispered " _Finite Incantatem_ " snapped him out of the memory. The room seemed very quiet; Draco was staring at him with huge eyes, and Harry half expected him to throw a hex any second.

 

Instead, Draco slowly lowered his wand and said quietly, almost as if he were talking to himself, "I always thought you meant it."

 

Harry took a deep breath, realising only now that his heart was racing. "Well, I – I didn't."

 

Draco kept looking at him for a moment, then his face twisted into a sneer; his wand was up before Harry knew what was happening. "Got anything else where that came from, Potter? _Legilimens_!"

 

What had only been a gentle tugging before was now a full-force invasion that took Harry completely by surprise. He desperately reached for a memory, a thought, anything that would be vivid enough to shield his mind with. Without thinking, he turned to the familiar image he'd held on to whenever he didn't want to think about anything else...

 

...and remembered a split second too late that it was the last thing on earth he should ever let Draco Malfoy witness. Harry desperately pushed back against the intruding presence in his head, struggling to empty his thoughts, to erect a wall between Draco's consciousness and his own before it was too late –

 

Then Draco lowered his wand, and Harry realised with a sinking feeling that even though he'd just given his best shot so far at managing Occlumency, it had still not been enough. Draco's face was shining with unabashed glee, and his voice shook with pent-up laughter when he asked, "Potter, what in Merlin's name was _that_?"

 

Harry silently swore he was going to look up Memory Charms as soon as he had a moment to go to the library. "It was nothing," he answered as icily as possible, although the effect was probably ruined by the way his cheeks were burning, "just a stupid dream I once had."

 

This didn't have the desired effect – on the contrary, it seemed to heighten Draco's amusement. "A dream? You're dreaming of me, Potter? Should I be flattered?"

 

"Shut up is what you should," Harry hissed, his temper flaring. "It's hardly surprising you should even pester me in my dreams, you do enough of it during the day!"

 

"And that made you add me to the tooth-rotting idyll of you and the she-weasel sending your ickle kiddies off to school? Really, Potter, I had no idea you cared so much." Draco obviously had trouble keeping himself from bursting into giggles. "Although I'm not quite sure what to make of the fact that you think me capable of marrying Daphne Greengrass."

 

"What?" It took Harry a moment to remember that there might indeed have been a woman standing next to Draco in the dream, but he couldn't for the life of him remember what she'd looked like. Wasn't Daphne Greengrass the mouse-faced Slytherin girl who had come back to Hogwarts this year? Harry wasn't sure, and he found it deeply troubling that the one short glimpse Draco had taken into his dream had let him see details Harry couldn't even remember.

 

"I also seem to recall that you were going bald, Malfoy," he snapped, grasping at the most insulting bit of the dream he could think of. "Who knows, perhaps it was a vision after all? Your head will probably look like a billiard ball before you hit forty."

 

Draco clearly wasn't overly concerned by this. "Your 'visions' wouldn't worry me even if I knew what a billiard ball was. I hope for your sake that you'll never have to make a living as a seer, Potter – no Malfoy in living memory has ever lost his hair, and the odds of me marrying Daphne are about the same as those of you marrying McGonagall."

 

Harry glared at him. "It goes without saying that I'll make you regret the day you were born if you ever breathe a word about this to anyone." He knew there was little hope that Draco would heed the warning, but Harry couldn't think of anything else to control the damage he'd done. Until he learned that Memory Charm, at least.

 

Draco held up his hand in a placating gesture. "Don't get your knickers in a twist. Just a piece of advice: if you ever do have kids, you'd better let their mother choose the names."

 

Harry had no idea what he meant by that, and he was determined to bite off his tongue before he asked. "I shut you out eventually, didn't I?"

 

"You did, as a matter of fact. Embarrassment seems to be a strong incentive for you." Harry was about to shoot back another scathing reply, but Draco cut him off. "Never mind that now. For whatever reason, you did exactly the right thing – focussing on my presence in your thoughts and pushing back. Try to remember how you did it, because this is the skill you need to work on if you want to get better at Occlumency. The last step is to close your mind in a way that leaves the intruder unaware that you're even doing it, but you've still got a long way to go until you can try that."

 

Despite his anger and humiliation, Harry had to grudgingly admit that he'd got more useful information about Occlumency during the last hour than during all those excruciating "lessons" with Snape in fifth year.

 

"You seem to know a bit about teaching."

 

Draco seemed surprised, but then he shrugged. "I've had a lot of experience tutoring people even thicker than you. How do you think Crabbe and Goyle got through their first six years?"

 

"Not that it did them much good in the end," Harry muttered, already regretting the lukewarm compliment.

 

Draco's face went blank. "No, I suppose not."

 

It was quiet for a moment, and Harry couldn't help remembering that the first thing Draco had done after they'd escaped the inferno in the Room of Requirement had been to ask after Crabbe.

 

Then Draco took a deep breath and continued, as if the last few sentences had never been spoken, "Make no mistake, Potter, it was a good first attempt, but you'll still need a lot of training. If I'd really tried right now, I would probably have got past your resistance, and I'm no experienced Legilimens _and_ have to work with a wand that isn't mine. You wouldn't stand a chance against anyone who really knows what they're doing."

 

Harry was about to bring up the fact that he had eventually kept Voldemort out of his mind, but he thought better of it. He knew that he hadn't been able to do it because he'd suddenly turned into an Occlumency expert; the only logical explanation was that he had somehow learned to use the twisted connection they had shared to his favour. It wasn't something that Harry was keen on pondering further; the thought that a piece of Voldemort's soul had been inside him for most of his life always left him with a sickening feeling of violation.

 

"I know that," he replied instead, "but right now, I should learn the basics of Legilimency instead anyway, remember? Though I don't think I'll get anywhere with that if you keep blocking me on the threshold, so to speak."

 

"Nice try, Potter." Draco's voice was even, but his eyes were flashing. "If you think I'll let you rummage around in my mind, you're sorely mistaken."

 

"Hey, if I could stand it –"

 

"Oh, spare me your hero antics," Draco snarled, his self-control slipping momentarily. "In case you've forgotten, this isn't just about a little embarrassment for me. Don't tell me you'd hesitate to turn me in if you saw something in my head that would give the Ministry a chance to send me straight to Azkaban!"

 

Harry wasn't sure what to think of this sudden outbreak. "What are you blathering about? You didn't kill anyone, did you?"

 

Draco's expression went blank again, although there were angry red blotches on his cheeks and neck. "No, of course not. What kind of question is that?"

 

_You're not a killer, Draco_. The scene on the Astronomy tower suddenly stood out clearly in Harry's memory, and for a second, he wondered how Draco would have reacted if he'd shown him _that_. "Then what are you fretting about? Do you really think the Ministry will bother with you if they're letting the likes of your father off the hook?"

 

"What?" Draco had gone ashen; he was right next to Harry with two long strides and grabbed his arm so hard that it hurt. "What did you say about my father?"

 

Harry cast a pointed look at the hand on his arm, and Draco let go as if he'd been burned.

 

"You mean you haven't been told about the amnesty?"

 

It was obvious that Draco had a hard time keeping up a calm appearance. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

 

"Oh." Harry realised that there was no way he could _not_ tell him the rest now, even though he'd have kept his mouth shut if he'd known that the Malfoys hadn't learned of the amnesty yet. "I had a talk with the Minister yesterday, and he told me the Ministry is going to grant an amnesty for all Death Eater crimes short of homicide. He mentioned your father by name, so it looks like he has again wormed his way out of the punishment he deserves."

 

Draco seemed to have trouble breathing. "Why did he tell you, if nobody else knows yet?"

 

Harry shrugged. "He wanted to be sure I wouldn't make a fuss when I heard about it."

 

"And you won't?"

 

Harry shrugged again. "There's no point, I suppose."

 

"Potter," Draco said slowly, his voice low and dangerous, "if this is some kind of sick joke, I swear I'll –"

 

"Oh, for pity's sake!" Harry snapped at him. "Do you think I've nothing better to do than inventing ways to torment you, Malfoy? Owl the bloody Ministry if you don't believe me!"

 

Draco seemed frozen on the spot for a second; only his jaw was working, and his cheeks had gone from pale to crimson. Then he turned on his heel and was out of the door before Harry could get another word in.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry felt a bit like he was back in his sixth year the next morning, when he sat down for breakfast in the Great Hall and immediately looked over to the Slytherin table where Draco was sitting hunched over a bowl of porridge. It was very obvious that he wasn't eating, and even more obvious that he hadn't got much sleep last night: he was even paler than usual, and there were dark circles under his eyes that were visible even from a distance. Harry wasn't quite sure what to make of that; if anything, he'd have expected Draco to be pleased about the news he'd learned from him, not upset to the point of sleeplessness. Harry briefly pondered whether Draco had really owled the Ministry for confirmation, but he quickly dismissed the idea as ridiculous.

 

Nevertheless, Draco sat up ramrod straight as soon as the first owls started soaring through the open windows, as if he were indeed waiting for a letter. Harry scanned the flock of unfamiliar birds, resolutely not thinking about the missing spot of white among them, and recognised the huge eagle owl that usually carried the Malfoy family's mail even before it landed on the Slytherin table and stuck out its leg towards Draco.

 

Careful not to let Ron and Hermione notice that his attention was elsewhere, Harry busied himself with buttering his toast, while he kept watching the scene out of the corner of his eye. Draco unrolled the parchment so hastily that he almost ripped it in two, and his face went even paler when he started reading. It took him a while to finish, but once he lowered the letter, his expression had changed completely. Whereas he'd looked anxious and tense before, he now seemed to be sagging with relief; he briefly closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if he needed to steady himself. The girl next to him, a snub-nosed blonde who couldn't be above fourth year, leaned closer and asked him a question. Draco answered with a curt nod, which caused whispers to spread along the Slytherin table like ripples in a pond. Draco, however, seemed unaware of it; he rose from his seat, the letter clutched tightly in his hand, abandoned his untouched breakfast and left the Great Hall.

 

There were, Harry noticed belatedly, a fair number of people who watched him leave – not only at the Slytherin table, but at the other House tables as well. He obviously wasn't the only one who had taken an interest in Draco's correspondence today, and it made him wonder whether Draco had told anyone about their conversation the day before.

 

* * *

 

Harry got an answer to that question later in the day, when he was on his way to the Defence classroom for the dreaded Occlumency lesson. He'd decided to be early in case Snape wanted to go over anything he was planning for today, but he already saw Draco standing outside the classroom, deep in conversation with a small Ravenclaw girl Harry didn't know. Neither of them noticed Harry's approach, and he was able to hear a few snippets of their conversation.

 

"You needn't worry," Draco was saying in a tone that was surprisingly gentle, although it didn't seem to have any effect on the girl, who was shaking. "Nothing is going to happen to her. The Ministry employee my father contacted is reliable enough, and although he wasn't pleased that word has got out at this stage, he confirmed that it's true."

 

"So they won't come and take her away to Azkaban?" the girl asked, sounding as if she were close to tears. "I've been so worried ever since –"

 

Draco shook his head. "They won't; she's safe, and you can stop fretting. And now run along, I've got work to do."

 

Once the girl had dashed off, Draco looked up and spotted Harry coming towards him.

 

"Potter."

 

His tone was cool, but perfectly civil. Harry wasn't quite sure how to react to this strangely formal behaviour; eventually he settled on a brisk nod. "Malfoy. What was that about?"

 

"The girl?" Draco shrugged. "She wanted to know whether the rumours about a Ministry amnesty were true."

 

"Busy spreading the word, are you?" Harry couldn't decide whether to be amused or annoyed, although he _was_ sure which of the two Minister Shacklebolt's reaction would be when he heard about this. He was rather surprised how little the thought bothered him.

 

Draco gave him a shrewd look. "You didn't tell me not to."

 

"I doubt it would have stopped you."

 

"Well, if you'd have preferred me to keep this to myself and leave all the others who are afraid their parents or siblings might get arrested any moment in the dark..."

 

Harry shot him a glare. "Spare me the sympathy act, Malfoy. First, I doubt you care about anyone's family but your own, and second, let's not forget that these people would have _deserved_ to go to Azkaban, so don't expect me to shed any tears over the fact that they're a bit nervous right now."

 

"Fine." Draco jerked his head to the side, indicating the direction into which the girl had disappeared. "You want me to go after her and tell her to stop worrying about her mum because she's not worth it anyway?"

 

Harry couldn't think of a comeback that wouldn't lead to more pointless bickering, and he was getting heartily sick of that. Instead of replying, he turned towards the door of the Defence classroom; he had his hand on the doorknob when Draco's voice stopped him. "Potter?"

 

Reluctantly, Harry turned around again; Draco hadn't moved from the spot where he was standing and was watching him with a guarded expression. "Thank you. For telling me, I mean."

 

This was the second time Draco had thanked him, so it didn't feel quite as surreal any more, but Harry still had no idea what to make of it. "You'd have heard about it soon enough, I reckon. And now come on, we need to finish preparing Snape's demonstrations since you ran away halfway through yesterday."

 

* * *

 

The lesson went surprisingly well, given how ill at ease Harry felt throughout. Predictably, almost everyone who wasn't in Slytherin wanted to work with him when the time came for practising; only Neville and two Hufflepuff girls volunteered to join the much smaller group who would try to keep Draco out of their thoughts.

 

They were only practising projection, which filled Harry with a sense of vindictive amusement – Snape may have resented Draco's critique of his teaching methods, but he obviously had been forced to realise that it made sense to start with the easiest stage. Still, none of Harry's classmates pulled it off at the first go, although Dean Thomas came close by thinking of nothing but football as soon as Harry had cast the spell. Most of the others unwillingly allowed Harry glimpses into their minds that filled him with a mixture of pity and horror – the war was everywhere, there were memories of death and pain, the overwhelming feeling of fear and loss, hopelessness and grief that seeped through everyone's defences and made it just as difficult for them to shield their thoughts as it was hard for him to witness what was going on in their minds.

 

It was a sobering realisation to see what kind of burden everyone else was carrying around all the time while they were all desperate to act as if nothing had happened, as if they were safely back to their normal lives now. It made him wonder how messed up he himself must be if the minds of those who'd been hardly more than bystanders in this whole mess were affected this badly.

 

Hermione and Ron were the last to go, and by the time he got to them, Harry felt so exhausted that his head was beginning to spin. Hermione went first, and Harry braced himself; he wasn't sure he was up to facing her darkest moments, given what they'd all been through. It was almost a relief to find out that the images that kept shining through her projection were the faces of her parents, looking at her with a mixture of anger, hurt and bitter disappointment. Harry could sympathise with her plight, but given what he'd seen so far in other people's minds, he'd been expecting worse.

 

Then only Ron was left. He seemed extremely fidgety when Harry raised his wand, and Harry quickly found out why. Although Ron did his best to block him out with the memory of his last, triumphant Quidditch match during sixth year, there was clearly something else on his mind that prevented him from focussing properly. Through the hazy Quidditch scenes, Harry kept getting flashes of other images – images he could _really_ have done without and which left him firmly determined to always knock when he was about to enter their room from now on.

 

His expression must have given away his thoughts, because Ron was blushing crimson and very carefully avoided looking into Hermione's direction by the time Harry lowered his wand.

 

"Harry, listen – "

 

Harry held up his hand to cut him off. "Ron, drop it, _please_. I don't want to know, and I'd prefer to forget this as soon as possible, okay?"

 

It wasn't entirely true; he couldn't help wondering whether he'd witnessed the results of an over-active imagination or actual memories, but Ron would probably kill him if he ever asked him that. Still, whatever it had been he'd seen, it left him with a nagging feeling of unease. Ron and Hermione had been his closest friends ever since their first year, but now there was a part of their lives he had no access to, and even though he knew it was stupid and selfish, he couldn't help feeling a bit left out.

 

Then, finally, the bell rang; Snape set them a twelve-inch essay on the different techniques of mental shielding and dismissed the class. Harry, sensing danger, made a dash for the door, but Snape was faster.

 

"Potter, Malfoy, stay behind for a moment, there's something we need to discuss."

 

Harry wasn't surprised, but still annoyed; his head was pounding, and he wanted nothing more than to lie down for half an hour before dinner. Draco didn't seem too pleased either, although he kept quiet when Harry asked the portrait, none too politely, "Well, what is it?"

 

Snape gave him an icy glare. "Watch your tone, Potter. We need to make arrangements for the marking of the essays I set; it's not as if I could do it myself."

 

Draco sighed. "Don't tell me you want us to correct and mark essays for you?"

 

"That's precisely what I'm telling you, Mr Malfoy. The students who assist me in my other classes get to mark the homework of the year below them, but since there is no year above yours, you will have to do it. For all the seventh-years, not just for the students in this class, since the other seventh-year class is marking the sixth-years."

 

Draco seemed about to protest, but he couldn't get a word in. "I don't want to hear it, Mr Malfoy. Both you and Mr Potter, as much as it pains me to say, possess knowledge on this subject that surpasses that of the average seventh-year student. You should be more than up to the task, and of course, I will be there to guide you."

 

"And who will mark our essays?" Harry gestured towards Draco to emphasise his point. "His and mine, I mean. Don't tell me you want us to mark each other's homework?"

 

Snape lifted an eyebrow. "Do you have a better suggestion, Mr Potter?"

 

Harry could think of several things he'd have liked to suggest right now, but since none of them were related to Defence essays, he kept quiet. Draco, however, was shaking his head. "I don't have time for this, Professor. The Quidditch season starts in three weeks, and I have my hands full as it is to get the Slytherin team into shape. They need me; I can't very well tell them to train without me because I have to spend my evenings marking essays!"

 

Snape sighed. "Your flair for dramatic exaggerations is getting a bit tedious, Draco. I assure you this task won't take up all your evenings, but if you're that worried about your team's performance, you'll be excused from helping with the essays when you've got team practice. Luckily, Mr Potter doesn't play Quidditch anymore, so I'm sure he'll be glad to take over for you on these occasions."

 

Harry was convinced it was not just his imagination that both Snape and Draco were biting back identical smirks at this. Clenching his teeth, he shouldered his book bag and made for the door before he said or did something he'd regret.

 

* * *

 

At the dinner table, Ron came up with an impressive and very colourful collection of names to call Snape and Draco when Harry told him about the extra task he'd been saddled with. He either really cared about Harry's predicament or, Harry thought with a touch of irony, was just tremendously relieved that Harry hadn't brought up the details of their Occlumency training.

 

"I can't believe the little shit dared to use Quidditch as an excuse to let you do the work for him." Ron shot a dark look at the Slytherin table, even though there was no white-blond head in sight there. "Everyone knows the Slytherin team is a laugh. Even he does – they say that Slughorn had to practically beg him to accept the captaincy!"

 

This was news to Harry, but then, he wasn't paying much attention to Quidditch-related rumours this year. "What's wrong with them?"

 

Ron snorted. "You mean, what isn't wrong with them? With half their house gone and barely any upper years left, they've assembled a team of green kids who've probably never seen a goal hoop up close in their lives. I've heard that apart from Malfoy, the eldest is barely fourteen. Seems he's aware that they'll be the laughingstock of the school, or he wouldn't make them train three times a week."

 

"Three times a week?" Harry found it hard to believe; not even Oliver Wood had been that fanatical. "They can't be _that_ bad after that kind of drill, can they?"

 

Ron shrugged while he heaped a second helping of spaghetti onto his plate, momentarily reminding Harry of that evening in the tent when he'd told Hermione he wanted to go to Godric's Hollow. "No matter. We're playing them in a little over three weeks, and we're going to wipe the pitch with them." He gave Harry a grin that had no humour in it. "Don't worry, mate, Ginny says she can't wait until she gets to kick his arse."

 

Harry's eyes drifted down the length of the Gryffindor table, to the spot where Ginny was sitting between two girls from her year. As if she'd noticed his glance, she suddenly turned her head and saw him looking at her. Before Harry could do as much as give her a smile, however, she'd turned away again without acknowledging him in any way.

 

He heard Ron sigh next to him and was grateful that he didn't say anything.

 

* * *

 

The Ministry announced the amnesty plan three days later via an elaborate statement of Shacklebolt's in the _Daily Prophet_. The timing convinced Harry that he had forced the Minister's hand by letting the information slip, but he didn't feel overly bothered by it. There was much discussion in the Great Hall and in the Gryffindor common room during the following days, which caused Harry to skip meals in favour of what he could get from the kitchen elves and retreat to his room to do his homework in the evenings. He neither wanted to hear his housemates arguing about the news, nor was he willing to look around in the Great Hall to find out how many faces wore an expression of relief.

 

He was slowly getting accustomed to being back at school. There were days when the familiar routine no longer felt jarringly wrong, but actually gave him a feeling of comfortable stability in a world that still seemed to be off its axis, and he wasn't going to ruin these precious moments by hearing students who had no way of knowing what the war had even been about discuss Ministry politics. He had no idea how the wizarding public was reacting to Shacklebolt's announcement, and he didn't want to know. Pondering the issue led to memories of Dolores Umbridge watching his bleeding hand with a smug smile on her toad-like face, or of Lucius Malfoy's disdainful laugh when Harry had asked about Sirius in the Department of Mysteries – and Harry knew that it was no use to dwell on either, or on thoughts about another dozen of people who, for the sake of a new beginning, would not be held responsible for the crimes they had committed.

 

There were days when Harry felt that he'd almost pulled off the impossible feat to empty his mind of all thoughts about the past and focus on nothing but homework and timetables. Likewise, there sometimes were nights when he didn't dream at all or had forgotten most of it by the time he woke up in the morning. He even dared to sleep without a Silencing Charm around his bed now – Ron said that he sometimes heard him muttering in his sleep, but that didn't bother Harry as long as he didn't wake up screaming any more.

 

The certainty that there would come another of those better days again soon helped him through the moments when he wanted nothing more than to curl up in some dark corner and never come out again, or when the suffocating feeling of numbness settled over him and made him feel like a ghost walking among the living, witnessing the warmth and vibrancy of life around him without being able to share it. Some days were worse than others in that regard, but they too would pass eventually, and the knowledge kept him going. He had made it this far, had managed to survive even though his death had been pre-arranged during his infancy, and he stubbornly held on to the belief that there would come a day when life would finally be worth living.

 

He sometimes wondered whether Ginny felt the same way, whether she too still had to find her way back into a world where the only enemies left to overcome were pain and grief. He often thought of her during the darker moments, picturing the future he would one day share with her, when they would live safely in the knowledge that all their suffering was in the past. He was willing to give her all the time she needed, but sometimes, when he saw her chat with her classmates or smile at one of her friends at the Gryffindor table, he was convinced that he wouldn't have to wait much longer for the moment when they would finally manage to talk and set things right between them.

 

It didn't make anything better, just like holding on to his threadbare teddy hadn't kept the darkness of his cupboard away when he'd been a child. Yet in the same way that the teddy had helped him through the long, lonely nights back then, thinking about Ginny made everything a little bit easier to bear.


	9. Chapter 9

Ron had predicted that Harry would find himself eager to play Quidditch again once he'd been forced to watch a Gryffindor match from the stands, but Harry felt nothing of the sort when he sat down next to Hermione in the Gryffindor section. He was strangely apprehensive instead, and he was sure it wasn't just his imagination that the atmosphere all around the pitch was tense. As luck would have it, the draw for the first match of the season had been Gryffindor-Slytherin, which had been the most explosive of combinations even before the war. Now, with Slytherin House reduced to half its size and its members regarded with suspicion, no one knew what to expect from the upcoming match between the old arch-rivals.

 

Hermione was chewing her lower lip uneasily, and he didn't think it was Ron's performance as Keeper she was worried about. The time when such things had been of utmost importance seemed a lifetime away; Harry found it hard to imagine that Quidditch had once been his foremost concern even while he'd known what kind of battle the future might hold in store for him.

 

Luna's voice interrupted his musings; he'd been so deep in thought that he hadn't even noticed her approach. "Do you mind if I sit here? A Billywig flew across my path when I was on the way to the Ravenclaw stands, and I don't want to risk an ear infection." She plopped down in the empty seat next to him before Harry had a chance to answer. He had no idea what Billywigs had to do with ear infections, but he knew from experience that it was best not to question Luna's weird beliefs.

 

Hermione rolled her eyes and murmured something about Billywigs living in Australia, but Luna paid no attention to her. She hadn't donned the lion-topped hat from their sixth year today and was wearing blue – at least eight different shades of it – all over, as if she wanted to remain neutral between the rivalling factions. Harry had already noticed before that many Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs weren't showing Gryffindor colours this time, although he didn't see any green and silver outside the Slytherin section of the stands either.

 

"I'm sorry I'm so late," Luna nattered on, "but I went looking for Ginny to give her a Diricawl feather for good luck; she's really nervous, you know."

 

Considering how Ginny had stormed off after seeing him sit with Luna a few weeks ago, Harry couldn't help wondering what Ginny had thought of Luna bringing her a good luck charm. Besides, he had a hard time imagining Ginny being nervous about a Quidditch match; even Ron had seemed remarkably relaxed on his way to the pitch. "We'll kick their arses into next week, mate, mark my words," he'd said before heading for the changing room. "I've seen Malfoy and his sorry lot; he looks like a mother hen among her chicks in the middle of these green kids. I doubt I'll have much work to do today." Harry had considered warning him about the pitfalls of over-confidence, but had thought better of it. He no longer was Ron's captain; it wasn't up to him to give him advice.

 

No, surely it was just another of Luna's crazy ideas. Ginny definitely wasn't nervous; if he knew her at all, she was eagerly looking forward to getting one over the Slytherins. It was him who was getting nervous when he thought of Ginny; now that they were all halfway settled into the new-old routine of school life, he had decided it was time to talk to her. Ron and Hermione seemed joined at the hip wherever they went these days, and Harry had caught himself wishing that Ginny was with him more than once when he trudged along beside them.

 

He'd given it a lot of thought and had come to the conclusion that, considering the circumstances under which they'd first got together during sixth year, another Gryffindor victory would be the perfect opportunity to set things right between them. Whenever he'd woken up from a bad dream lately (it still happened frequently, although these were just ordinary nightmares, not the kind that made him scream the castle down), he'd imagined how he would be waiting for her when she came out of the changing room, her face still flushed with exertion and triumph. She would see him smile at her and would run up to him, back into his arms and his life, and Ron would finally realise how wrong he'd been about the two of them.

 

If they all survived the match without bloodshed, that was.

 

The last, rather sobering thought brought Harry back to the present. The stands were almost full; he spotted Professor Flitwick on the commentator's podium, which was new – he'd never seen a teacher comment a Quidditch match before. Luna must have looked in the same direction, because she sighed. "I told Professor McGonagall that I'd gladly comment again, but she said she wanted to make sure the commentator was unbiased. I promised I would be, but she wouldn't listen."

 

"Perhaps she remembered your lion hat," Hermione threw in with a slightly mocking undertone that seemed totally lost on Luna.

 

"That could be the reason, indeed," she answered in her usual dreamy way, and Harry bit back a grin, remembering Luna's one-time appearance as Quidditch commentator. He fleetingly wondered what Lee Jordan was doing these days, now that Potterwatch was no longer necessary.

 

Luna turned to Harry and gave him one of her piercing stares. "I haven't seen you much lately."

 

"I was busy," Harry answered truthfully; since Draco had used Quidditch practice as an excuse to bow out of marking Snape's essays until his team had played their first match, Harry had been left with all the work to do on top of his own schoolwork. It wasn't quite as unpleasant as he'd expected, given that he had to go through the essays in the company of Snape's portrait, but he would still breathe a sigh of relief when the lazy git would have to take over his half of the workload. At least they hadn't been forced to work together for another classroom demonstration so far.

 

Luna nodded solemnly and seemed about to say something when Professor McGonagall climbed onto the commentator's platform next to Flitwick and tapped the magical megaphone with her wand. A speech from the Head of School before the beginning of a Quidditch match was also highly unusual, but Harry had no trouble seeing why she would consider it necessary. Gryffindor-Slytherin matches had had a long history of getting ugly, and the danger that things might get out of hand seemed a very real one.

 

McGonagall's speech reminded Harry of her words at the Welcoming Feast; she spoke of reconciliation, new beginnings and the healing of old rifts, reminded both the players and the audience of the principles of fair sportsmanship, and finally introduced both teams herself as they walked onto the pitch. Consequently, nobody dared to hiss or boo when the Slytherins were announced, but Harry wasn't sure whether the half-hearted round of applause they received from the non-Slytherin part of the audience wasn't worse, especially given the roar that had gone through the ranks when the Gryffindor team had made their appearance.

Harry watched the captains shake hands through his Omnioculars; Demelza looked slightly nervous, but her jaw was set in a determined fashion, while Draco seemed to do his best to keep his expression as blank as possible. Nevertheless, there were hectic red blots on his cheeks, so he probably wasn't as calm as he tried to appear. Harry didn't know the other Slytherin players; next to Draco, who towered over them just like Ron had said, they looked like a bunch of frightened children – which they probably were.

 

Then Madam Hooch blew her whistle, the players rose into the air, and the match was underway. It was obvious that the Slytherins were inexperienced, but Harry soon realised that they had been trained well; some of them were very talented flyers, and the team worked together quite smoothly. The Gryffindor team seemed a bit too careless at the beginning, but they pulled themselves together quickly after the Slytherin Chasers scored twice within the first ten minutes of the game. Harry saw Demelza shout something at Ron, whose face turned almost as red as his hair. Hermione, who had likewise watched the scene through her own Omnioculars, winced.

 

"I told him he should take them seriously, everybody knows that Slytherins will do everything to win."

 

"Yes, even score goals," Luna added serenely. "They're not cheating, Harry, are they?"

 

Harry had to admit that she was right; the Slytherins played a rather rough game, but it seemed to him that Draco had drilled them to stay within the rules. Now that the Gryffindors were paying attention, however, their greater experience showed; Ron pulled off several spectacular saves, and then Demelza and Dean both scored twice in quick succession.

 

"Gryffindor now lead forty points to twenty," Professor Flitwick announced, "and Slytherin captain Malfoy gets hit by – no, narrowly dodges a Bludger from Gryffindor Beater Coote, while Gryffindor Seeker Weasley almost collides with him – careful there, Miss Weasley, that could have been a nasty fall for both of you... Thomas takes a shot at the Slytherin goal, but Pembroke manages to save it inches away from the hoop. Gryffindor in possession, but Robins drops the Quaffle when a Bludger hits her broom – Gryffindor Beaters both rush in a second too late... Slytherin in possession, but Gryffindor Keeper Weasley has no problems saving a rather weak shot from Robertson – we're now fifteen minutes into the match, and Gryffindor still lead forty to twenty!"

 

Harry had finally managed to spot Ginny with his Omnioculars; she wore a look of fierce determination on her face and was circling the pitch at high speed, searching for the Snitch. Draco wasn't tailing her, but seemed mostly occupied with keeping an eye on the performance of his team. It was a rather dangerous tactic – Harry knew from experience how difficult it could be to captain a team from the Seeker position, but perhaps Draco was confident that he would be able to out-fly Ginny for the Snitch once she'd spotted it. It would certainly be in character for the arrogant bastard, Harry thought with grim satisfaction – watching Draco, he was reminded once more that the git really was a good flyer, but that wouldn't help him if Ginny spotted the Snitch while he was on the other end of the pitch. Out of curiosity, he zoomed in on Draco's face and realised that Draco was trying to watch his team and look for the Snitch at the same time; his eyes were scanning the whole length and width of the pitch even while he was shouting instructions at the Slytherin players.

 

Then Luna gasped, "I think Ginny has seen the Snitch!" The crowd started clapping and cheering while Ginny dived so fast that she was a mere blur of red and gold, and Harry quickly readjusted his Omnioculars to watch her chase for the Snitch up close.

 

Professor Flitwick, too, sounded excited. "It seems Weasley has spotted the Snitch – she's going after it, but the Slytherin Seeker is coming in fast – watch that, he's almost caught up with her, that was a neat bit of flying, and they're racing for it... Malfoy is falling back due to a Bludger he has to avoid, but no, he's catching up again..."

 

The audience grew louder and louder; Ginny and Draco were now flying almost side by side, so that Harry could see both of them through his Omnioculars. Then he spotted the tiny golden ball mere inches ahead of Ginny's outstretched arm, but Draco's reach was greater, and Harry saw his fingertips brush the fluttering silver wings and slip off them when Ginny's elbow collided with the side of his head. There were angry hisses from the Slytherin stands, and Professor Flitwick muttered "Ouch," but Madam Hooch didn't blow her whistle. Harry knew that such things could happen accidentally when two Seekers were racing up close, so it would have been really harsh to call foul, especially since Draco hadn't even been thrown off course. They already were shoulder to shoulder again, both their right arms outstretched as far as possible. If the Snitch veered to either side now, it would fly right into the palm of one of them, but it suddenly shot straight upwards instead. Both of them reached for it, and Ginny's fingers missed by an inch just as Draco pulled his broom up and plucked the tiny ball right out of the air.

 

"Malfoy has caught the Snitch! Only twenty minutes into the game, Slytherin wins with a final score of one hundred and seventy points to forty!"

 

The stands erupted; the Slytherins were cheering and clapping, with a bit of polite applause from the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs mixed into the noise; around Harry, the Gryffindors were hissing and muttering. He kept his Omnioculars on Ginny and Draco, who had just landed less than two metres apart; Draco was still holding up the fluttering Snitch, and he was about to turn towards his team mates who were rushing up to him when Ginny yelled something, closed the distance between them with two long steps and spat in his face.

 

A hush fell over the crowd; Hermione's sharp intake of breath and Luna's muttered "Oh no" sounded overly loud to Harry. Then hell broke loose; all around them, people were shouting and arguing while on the pitch, the Slytherin team closed ranks around their captain. Madam Hooch's whistle shrilled again and again, and the Headmistress herself ran onto the pitch in what seemed to be a furious rage.

 

Harry was on his feet before he'd had time to think. "Come on, let's go."

 

Both Hermione and Luna followed him as he made his way down to the pitch; he wasn't sure what he was hoping to accomplish there, but he knew he couldn't stay in his seat and do nothing. He heard McGonagall shout at Ginny long before he, Luna and Hermione reached the group of people gathered around the two of them. Demelza was talking to Madam Hooch, who kept shaking her head with a grave expression on her face; McGonagall, however, seemed angrier than Harry could ever remember seeing her.

 

"- can't believe such a display of distasteful immaturity and vindictiveness! Did you hear a word of what I said before the game, you stupid girl? You will apologise to Mr Malfoy at once!"

 

Ginny, who was extremely pale but for her burning cheeks, opened her mouth for what would undoubtedly have been a heated reply, but Draco was faster.

 

"No need, Professor," he said calmly, his voice dripping contempt. "I don't give a damn about her apology. And now if you will excuse us, we have a victory to celebrate."

 

With that, he gathered his team and led them off the pitch. They followed him in silence, their faces set and grim; they passed right by where Harry was standing, but neither Draco nor his team mates spared him a look.

 

Meanwhile, McGonagall seemed to have calmed down somewhat. "I am beyond shocked and appalled, Miss Weasley. I don't care about your feelings towards Mr Malfoy or Slytherin House as a whole – such behaviour from a member of a Hogwarts Quidditch team can't be excused."

 

For one horrifying moment, Harry was convinced that McGonagall was going to kick Ginny off the team, and all he could think of was that if she did, everyone was going to demand that he play Seeker in her stead.

 

Thankfully, McGonagall seemed to think along the same lines. "You have just lost Gryffindor House a hundred points, and you will serve detention with Mr Filch every evening for a month."

 

There were gasps all around – less than six weeks into the school year, Gryffindor House didn't even _have_ a hundred points so far. Ginny opened her mouth again, and Harry hoped against hope that she wouldn't be suicidal enough to talk back at McGonagall, but he knew her well enough to understand that that everything was possible once she was well and truly furious.

 

McGonagall, however, didn't even give her time to speak. "You should consider yourself extremely lucky that I don't remove you from the team right away, Miss Weasley," she said icily, "but I assure you that I will do it immediately if I see one more display of such behaviour from you. Now go change, and that goes for all of you."

 

Ginny, her head held high, swept off the pitch without meeting anyone's gaze, but Harry hadn't missed the angry tears glittering in her eyes. The rest of the team followed a bit more slowly, looking subdued.

 

Up in the stands, teachers were ushering the remaining students down the steps and back towards the school. Harry noticed how they tried to separate the Slytherins from the other students, probably hoping to prevent fights that way.

 

"This could be really bad," Hermione said when they made their way towards the changing rooms to wait for the members of the Gryffindor team; she sounded worried. "I mean, I don't understand how Ginny could lose her temper in such a way..."

 

"She hates Draco Malfoy," Luna interrupted her. "She has often said that she doesn't understand how he could return to school when he should be in Azkaban. Now that his family got off too, it probably became too much for her."

 

"Can't say I blame her," Harry murmured, remembering how Ginny had almost been killed by Riddle's diary that Lucius Malfoy had slipped her. If anyone had the right to begrudge the Malfoys their freedom, it was definitely Ginny.

 

"No, of course not," Luna agreed, "but she was probably lucky that he didn't Crucio her in return, I'm sure he knows how to."

 

"I'd like to see him try in front of all these people!" Harry replied heatedly; he suddenly remembered how Draco had tried to do just that when Harry had found him crying in the bathroom during sixth year.

 

Hermione shook her head impatiently. "Just because she spat at him? That seems a bit extreme even for Malfoy; it sounds like something Bellatrix Lestrange would have done."

 

Harry saw Luna look straight at him and knew that she too remembered how he'd used the Cruciatus Curse on Amycus Carrow for spitting at McGonagall. He wasn't exactly proud of it, but he still resented the silent implication that he had been able to do something that Hermione considered to be beneath the likes of Draco Malfoy. Besides, circumstances had been very different then; they'd been fighting for their lives, not for a Quidditch victory.

 

Luna went back to the castle when they'd left the pitch, but Harry and Hermione stayed behind to wait outside the changing rooms. Ron was the first to come out; he looked a bit sheepish, as if he weren't quite sure what to make of the situation. Harry clapped him on the shoulder and gave him what he hoped came across as an encouraging smile. "Tough luck, mate; you'll do better next time."

 

Ron shrugged uncomfortably. "Yeah, whatever. Come on, let's get out of here."

 

Harry shook his head. "I want to wait for Ginny." He doubted they'd be able to talk the way he'd hoped after everything that had just happened, but he felt that he should at least show his willingness to be there for her during difficult moments like this.

 

Ron, however, seemed doubtful. "I don't think that's such a good idea. You know how she gets when she's angry, and I'm telling you, she's ready to kill someone right now."

 

"It'll be fine," Harry said confidently; he too knew Ginny's temper, but he also knew that there likely was hurt and grief underneath the anger. "Perhaps I can get her to calm down a bit."

 

Ron shrugged again and wrapped an arm around Hermione's shoulders. "It's your funeral, not mine, but don't come complaining to me when she bites your head off. We'll see you later in the common room."

 

"Unless she _does_ bite my head off," Harry grinned and sat down on the rickety wooden bench outside the broom shed to wait for Ginny.


	10. Chapter 10

It dawned on Harry that he should have listened to Ron the moment Ginny came out of the changing room and saw him sitting with his back against the broom shed. Her eyes narrowed, and a sharp line appeared between her eyebrows that made her look much older than she was. He hadn't expected her to be overjoyed about finding him waiting for her, but it still stung when the only greeting she gave him as he scrambled to his feet was a curt, "What are you doing here?"

 

"I – I thought..." Harry took a deep breath, steadying his voice. "I hoped we could talk."

 

Ginny crossed her arms over her chest, her grim expression never softening. "About what?" Her clipped tone reminded Harry of Fudge during his interrogation before the Wizengamot three years ago.

 

He was _never_ going to dismiss Ron's advice again. "Um – you know, it can wait if it isn't such a good time right n-"

 

"Oh no," Ginny interrupted him, "by all means, let's talk. It might be another year before I get the privilege of speaking with you again, after all."

 

Harry felt his mouth drop open. "What is that supposed to mean?"

 

Ginny took a step closer, and he had to fight the urge to shrink back. The colour was rising in her cheeks now, hinting at the anger bubbling underneath the icy surface. "What, you mean you can't guess? After you've pretended that I don't exist ever since you sent me away from the battle?"

 

This was so unfair that Harry felt as if she'd slapped him. "You couldn't have stayed, you were underage! If you –"

 

"Bollocks!" Ginny's voice was getting louder, her temper finally flaring for real. "As if anyone would have cared about my age! You wanted me out of your hair, nothing else!"

 

"I wanted you _safe_!" It was all Harry could do not to yell back. "Do you think I could have lived with myself if I'd let something happen to you?"

 

Ginny was about to give a scathing reply when Demelza came out of the changing room, gave them a quick look and then hastily walked past them. The seconds until she was out of earshot seemed to calm Ginny somewhat, because she continued in a more controlled tone, "That wasn't your decision to make! We were fighting a battle the whole year at Hogwarts, with the Carrows after the DA and the Slytherins practising hexes on us, so don't think I need you to look after me!"

 

"Could have fooled me down there in the Chamber of Secrets," Harry snapped, and then instantly regretted it. It had been a stupid thing to say, but it had rankled him to hear her hold the events of last year against him, given what _he_ had been through during that same year. Still, he wished he could take back what he'd just said when he saw her flush deepening.

 

"Oh, so you do remember that after all? Then why the hell did you keep your mouth shut right now instead of reminding McGonagall that the little shit _deserved_ being spat at?"

 

Harry took another deep breath; he was beginning to fear that things between them might get damaged beyond repair if he lost his temper now. "Ginny, please listen to me. I know what Lucius Malfoy did to you, and I'd love nothing better than to see him rot in Azkaban for it, but it's just not going to happen, and picking fights with his son won't change it. McGonagall told me that she thinks we'll either manage a fresh start now or face another war in a few years, and we both know what that would mean, don't we?"

 

"My God." Ginny's voice was low, but trembling with fury. "You _really_ mean that. Have you gone as mad as the rest of them? Don't you know what their lot put us all through?"

 

Harry couldn't believe he was hearing this. "What do you think I did last year, go on holiday or something?"

 

"How the hell should I know? It's not as if you ever told me anything about it!" The angry tears that had glittered in Ginny's eyes before were now spilling freely over her cheeks, but she didn't even seem to notice them. "I kept waiting for a word, a message, anything from you while you were on the run; there was nothing, and half the time I wasn't even sure whether you were still alive! Then you came back, and I wanted to fight next to you, but you sent me away! And when it was all over, you had forgotten that I even exist!"

 

Harry stared at her, stung by the accusation he'd never have expected from her. "Forgotten? I kept thinking about you all the time! Sometimes at night, I sat for hours and watched your name on the Marauder's Map until –"

 

Ginny's eyes went wide. "That map that Ron and Hermione used the night Snape killed Dumbledore? _You_ had it all the time, you... you bloody bastard? It would have kept us safe from the Carrows all year!"

 

Harry felt utterly dumbfounded; now that she'd said it, it seemed completely logical, but the thought had never occurred to him before. "It's – I've had it forever, and I just wasn't thinking..."

 

"...of me," Ginny finished hotly. "Nothing new there, I suppose."

 

Harry suddenly knew with frightening clarity that if he didn't manage to completely turn the conversation around _now_ , he was going to lose her for good.

 

"Ginny, that night of the final battle – " He paused for a moment, carefully weighing his words; he was about to reveal something he'd never told anyone before, and it was a lot harder than he'd imagined. "When Voldemort was pointing his wand at me, and I thought I was going to die the next second – everything I could think of was you."

 

He hadn't planned to ever tell her this, and now that he had done it, he felt strangely vulnerable, as if he'd stripped naked in front of her and was now waiting to see whether she was going to laugh at him or not.

 

Ginny slowly wiped the tears off her cheeks with her sleeve; when she looked at him again, her expression was eerily calm. "It's very sweet that you would have died thinking of me, Harry. Pity you never seem to spare a thought for me while you're alive."

 

He wanted to reply, to tell her that she'd completely misunderstood him, but she kept talking. "I really like you, Harry. Or at least I thought I did." Her voice was flat and emotionless; it made him wish she were still yelling at him instead. "I've always been certain that things would be all right in the end, once it was all over. But now I look at you and see you look right through me, and I get the feeling that I'm facing a stranger. I wanted my Harry back, the one I've been waiting for all this time – but I suppose I've stopped believing that it's ever going to happen."

 

There was a lump in Harry's throat that seemed to grow with every word she said, until he felt as if it was choking him. "Ginny, _please_ – "

 

He reached out towards her, suddenly desperate to touch her, to remind her that he was right here with her, but she took a step back.

 

"Do me a favour and leave me alone, Harry. I'm sure you know how to do it, you've had a lot of practice."

 

He watched her walk away with her head held high, her flaming hair fluttering in the breeze, and kept waiting for her to turn around and laugh, to tell him that it had all been a stupid prank to give him a scare, that of course they were going to be together...

 

But she didn't turn around, and Harry stared after her, feeling completely numb, long after she had disappeared in the distance.

 

* * *

 

The next days passed in a strange kind of blur for Harry. Lessons, meals, breaks, evenings in the common room, they all blended together into a shapeless mass of images that felt more surreal than ever. He went through the motions of his daily routine like a sleepwalker, keeping his mind as blank as possible. He found it impossible to focus properly, but he couldn't allow his thoughts to wander either – they invariably strayed into territory that was no longer safe, eager to return to the dreams and fantasies that had given him comfort for so long and unwilling to let go of them just because he knew now that they weren't going to come true.

 

He'd never have thought that it could be so difficult to stop hoping.

 

There was a gaping hole in his life where the image of Ginny had been; the beacon that had lit the path for him was gone, and he was left to stumble along in the darkness, neither knowing nor caring where he was going. There were mornings when he was no longer sure why he even bothered to get up, and without Ron's gentle prodding, he probably would have shut the bed curtains again and refused to come out at all.

 

He'd told Ron and Hermione what had happened – they had already guessed from his behaviour that things had gone badly wrong between him and Ginny, and they would probably get to hear Ginny's version anyway, so there was no point in keeping it to himself. Hermione tried to be supportive and reassuring; she kept telling him that Ginny was just hurt and angry, that he'd be able to get through to her once she had calmed down and that things would be all right eventually. He knew she meant well, but it was exceedingly jarring to endure her determined cheerfulness.

 

Ron said nothing at all about the matter, and Harry knew that he should be grateful for it, but he couldn't help feeling that Ron didn't mention Ginny to him because he had already said everything he had to say on the subject back in early September. There really wasn't much that Ron could have added to that, now that he'd been proven right.

 

Harry would have been hard-pressed to say why he was so convinced things were well and truly over between him and Ginny. There had been something missing in her eyes, something that had always been there before and was now gone, its absence turning their hard, blazing look that he had always admired so much flat and cold. It had made him feel as if he'd never seen her before, as if she were describing his own feelings when she had talked about looking at him and seeing a stranger. He no longer recognised the girl he used to think and dream about in her, and when he recalled her expression when she had told him to leave her alone, he wondered whether that girl had ever really existed at all.

 

He was almost thankful for the rare moments of simple, blinding pain, when the harsh realisation that he she was well and truly gone from his life cut right through the numbing haze and made him want to howl with misery. They never lasted long, though; soon enough, the numbness would return, surrounding him like a heavy, suffocating cloak that he couldn't shake off.

 

He sometimes thought of the talk with Dumbledore at the place that had looked like King's Cross and wondered idly if he would still decide to go back now if he were given the same choice again.

 

* * *

 

It took three knocks, each a little louder than the prior one, until Harry finally raised his head from the Transfiguration book he'd been leafing through.

 

"Who's there?"

 

The door opened, revealing Neville standing on the threshold. "Hi, Harry. Can I come in?"

 

"Yes, of course." Harry closed the book and gestured for Neville to sit on the bed, since he was occupying the only chair on his side of the little room. Neville sat down gingerly, and Harry couldn't help noticing how he kept fiddling with the hem of his sleeve.

 

"Where's Ron?"

 

Harry shrugged. "Off with Hermione to snog somewhere, I suppose. You may have to wait until curfew if you want to talk with him."

 

"I don't. I was looking for you, since I didn't see you in the common room. I – there's something I want to tell you."

 

A week ago, Harry would have been alarmed – such a tentative opening usually meant bad news. Now he just couldn't bring himself to care. "Spit it out, then."

 

"I had a talk with Ginny yesterday." Neville hesitated for a moment, clearly noticing Harry's sudden attention. "She asked me if I wanted to go out with her. I said no."

 

Harry gave him a blank look; it took him a second until it registered on him what Neville was talking about. When he finally found his voice, it sounded strange in his own ears. "Why are you telling me this?"

 

"I thought you should know." Neville had stopped worrying his sleeve; his expression was calm, with a hint of pity to it. "I'm aware that you two never got together again, but that doesn't mean she's over you, you see."

 

"Hard to believe if she's asking you out." Harry hadn't meant to sound snappish, but Neville didn't seem to mind anyway.

 

"Ginny and I spent a lot of time together last year. We've become good friends, and I think I've got to know her quite well. I really like her, but I'm not blind, Harry – no one can compete with the image of you in her mind."

 

The peculiar wording wasn't lost on Harry. "No," he replied bitterly, remembering all those accusations after the Quidditch match, "not even me, it seems."

 

Neville frowned. "What do you mean?"

 

"Never mind." Harry looked away for a moment, carefully choosing his words. "Neville, you don't need my blessing if you want to go out with her, but if you don't – you are still going to remain her friend, aren't you? Because I think she really needs one right now."

 

"I know." Neville smiled, but his eyes were sad. "Yes, of course I'll remain her friend. I told her so, too. Don't worry, Harry, I'll do my best to help her over this."

 

"Thanks, Nev." Harry's throat suddenly felt bone-dry, and he had trouble getting the words out.

 

"Anytime." Neville gave him a feeble pat on the shoulder as he walked out, leaving Harry to stare unseeingly at the door he had closed behind him.

 

* * *

 

"Potter, your orthography is nothing short of appalling."

 

Harry raised his head and shot a dirty look across the Defence classroom. "And you have the girliest handwriting I've ever seen in my life, Malfoy. Now shut up and keep working so we can get this over with."

 

"Gentlemen," came Snape's sharp voice from the portrait on the wall, "stop this inane bickering immediately. It would make for a refreshing change if you could finish marking each other's essays without killing each other."

 

Harry clenched his teeth. This was the first time Draco had not been able to worm out of helping with the essays, and so far, the evening had been relatively uneventful – they both worked mostly in silence unless one of them needed to ask Snape a question. Harry had been somewhat galled by the fact that Snape had assigned all the Slytherins' essays to Draco, as if he wanted to encourage him to favour his own house – not that it was necessary, since the final grade was Snape's decision anyway.

 

On the other hand, given the situation Slytherin House was in, they probably _did_ need all the help they could get.

 

Now, however, the two of them were working on each other's scrolls, and Harry was getting heartily sick of the way Draco kept tsking and shaking his head throughout. He knew he hadn't put much effort into the essay – schoolwork had been the last thing on his mind this past week –, but that didn't mean he needed the git to rub it in, especially since he had to grudgingly admit that there was nothing wrong with Draco's foot-long analysis of ways to counteract mind-altering curses.

 

To Harry's surprise, Draco didn't gloat overmuch when Snape eventually gave his essay full marks while Harry's barely scraped a passing grade. Snape, though, didn't disappoint in that regard.

 

"That essay is a disgrace, Potter. They won't break out the red carpet for you at Auror Headquarters for a performance like this, Chosen One or not."

 

That brought Harry up short. "What gives you the idea that I want to become an Auror?"

 

Snape sighed. "In case you've forgotten, you trumpeted it all over the school two years ago. I assumed at the time that you merely did it to annoy Dolores Umbridge, but Professor McGonagall seemed convinced that you were serious."

 

Harry clenched his teeth. He'd completely forgotten that he'd told Umbridge. "And how do you know I haven't changed my mind?"

 

"Harry Potter change his mind about _anything_?" Snape's cruel sarcasm hadn't lost any of its bite just because he was dead. "That would be a first, wouldn't it?"

 

" _Have_ you changed your mind?" Draco's unexpected question sounded casual, as if they were discussing the weather.

 

"No!" Harry replied without thinking and then, mentally kicking himself, quickly added, "Not that it's any of your business."

 

Draco shrugged without looking at Harry; he was busy packing his quill and ink away. "I don't care anyway. Speaking of caring, on the way here I saw your girlfriend clean the bathroom on the first floor. Why don't you go and help her wipe toilet seats, now that we're done here?"

 

Harry closed his eyes for a moment and silently counted to ten; he wasn't going to answer before he was absolutely sure that he had himself under control. "I'll wipe them with your face if you don't shut up, Malfoy. And she's not my girlfriend, so you can stop trying to needle me about her."

 

Draco raised an eyebrow; it made him look so much like his father that Harry's hand gave an involuntary twitch towards his wand. "Trouble in paradise, Potter? And here I was thinking she threw that lovely tantrum on the Quidditch pitch for your sake."

 

"She shouldn't have done that." Harry gave his best to sound calm. "I'd have cheered her on if she'd slapped you on twenty other occasions, but spitting in your face because you beat her to the Snitch should have been way beneath her."

 

Draco grinned feebly, although there was little humour in it. "Well, remind her to hex me next time, that has never been beneath the honour of a Gryffindor. Good evening, Potter."

 

With a nod towards Snape's portrait, he marched out, leaving it to Harry to gather the finished essays and lock them in the cupboard at the back of the classroom. Seething, Harry summoned the essays into a pile, threw them into the cupboard and closed the doors with a bang. He was secretly hoping that Snape would say something, thus giving Harry the chance to snap back at him and vent some of his anger, but the portrait remained quiet.

 

When Harry finally left the Defence classroom, he couldn't help pondering the strange realisation that Draco Malfoy had, simply by being the royal pain in the arse that he was, just managed to make him feel almost normal for the first time since his talk with Ginny.


	11. Chapter 11

If Harry strained his hearing, he could still make out the clatter of cutlery and the buzz of hundreds of chatting voices drifting over from the Great Hall. He'd been sitting here on the little stone bench underneath the high-arched window for quite a while, but from the sound of it, the Halloween Feast was still far from over. He could have moved further away, into another, more remote corridor that was completely silent, but something made him stay here, safely hidden under his Invisibility Cloak, listening to the faint noises of celebration in the distance.

 

He'd feigned a splitting headache to get Ron and Hermione out of his hair. He didn't particularly like lying to them, but they would both scold him for "moping around" if they knew he was sitting here in the semi-darkness of the empty corridor, so he'd told them he wanted to go straight to bed instead of going to the feast. He'd had enough of their fussing over him; they both meant well and were worried about him, but after they'd dragged him along with them for a Hogsmeade visit today, the wish to disappear from the face of the earth for a while had become overwhelming. They'd done their best not to let him feel how much they'd have preferred to spend the afternoon on their own, but Harry wasn't stupid, after all.

 

Besides, he didn't feel like partying. He knew McGonagall was hoping that a smashing Halloween party would take the students' minds off everything they had to cope with and might become another step towards normality, but for him, it brought back memories of the painfully stilted cheerfulness of the party which the grieving Weasley family had arranged for his eighteenth birthday. Since then, he was sure that he never wanted to see people force smiles onto their faces again – especially not tonight, on the anniversary of his parents' death, when his thoughts kept returning to the memory of a snow-covered grave in the silent cemetery of Godric's Hollow.

 

"Mr Harry Potter, sir?"

 

The squeaky voice that had spoken up somewhere at the level of his knees snapped Harry out of his brooding. The cloak hadn't slipped, so no one should have been able to see him – but when he turned around, he faced a house-elf, wrapped in a clean tea towel stamped with the Hogwarts crest, whose bulging eyes were undoubtedly focussing on him. The elf was balancing a cake decorated with candles and marzipan pumpkins, which made Harry wonder whether it had got lost on the way up from the kitchens.

 

"Mr Harry Potter?" the elf repeated when Harry didn't answer right away. "Hanni is sorry to be disturbing sir when sir is not wishing to be seen, but Hanni saw sir sitting here and is wishing to ask a favour."

 

In a way, it made sense that house-elves would be able to see through the cloak; Harry had seen enough demonstrations of their magic that, in many ways, surpassed everything wizards were able to accomplish. It became very difficult not to think of Dobby for a moment.

 

It was probably that thought which caused him to hide his annoyance about being disturbed. "Never mind, Hanni. What's the matter?"

 

The elf raised the cake it was holding a little higher, as if Harry might somehow not have noticed it before. "Hanni is being sent by all the kitchen elves to bring Miss Luna Lovegood a cake for her birthday, because Miss Luna is always coming down to the kitchens and being kind and telling us funny stories."

 

Harry bit back a grin at the mental image of Luna sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor with dozens of elves around her listening to her stories about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. He made a mental note to wish her a belated happy birthday as soon as he saw her; he hadn't known she'd been born on Halloween. "I'm sure she'll be glad. I suppose you'll find her at the feast in the Great Hall."

 

The elf shook its head. "Miss Luna is been going to her room early tonight. She isn't telling anyone about her birthday, but we is all thinking she is a bit sad about nobody remembering, so we is making her a cake."

 

Harry experienced a surge of the slightly embarrassed pity he often felt for Luna, even though he was never sure whether she really needed his pity since she seemed quite comfortable with herself. "That's – er, really very nice of you."

 

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir – but Hanni is thinking, Miss Luna celebrating alone with a cake from the kitchen elves is still being a bit sad, and then Hanni is seeing Mr Harry Potter sitting here, who is being Miss Luna's best friend even though he is never asking her about her birthday, and could Mr Potter perhaps take the cake to Miss Luna's room and wish her a happy birthday instead of Hanni?"

 

The request took Harry by surprise, and his first instinct was to refuse – but the elf's hopeful expression brought back memories of Dobby again, and besides, he didn't like the thought of Luna sitting in her room all alone on her birthday either.

 

"Fine, I'll take it to her. You just need to tell me where her room is, I've never been there."

 

The elf beamed at him and snapped its fingers, which caused the cake to rise into the air and hover right in front of Harry's face. "Thank you so much, Mr Harry Potter, sir! You is only needing to follow the cake, it is taking you to Miss Luna's room." With that, it snapped its fingers for a second time and disappeared with a crack.

 

The moment the elf had gone, the cake began to float away. Feeling extremely silly, Harry followed it along the silent – and thankfully empty – corridor, towards the Ravenclaw Tower. It was quite a long walk until the cake stopped in front of a narrow door opposite the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room. Harry had to knock twice before the door opened to reveal Luna in a lime green nightshirt that seemed to have been made for a person at least twice her height and three times her weight.

 

Her eyes widened at the sight of the cake floating in the corridor; only now Harry remembered that he was still hidden under the cloak. He felt even sillier than before when he quickly ripped it off, causing Luna's huge blue eyes to widen further.

 

"Oh, hello, Harry! Are you practising Disillusionment Charms?"

 

Harry ran his fingers through his hair in a futile attempt to stop it sticking up in all directions. "No, I – I came under the Invisibility Cloak, and I forgot I was still wearing it."

 

Luna nodded earnestly. "So you lost your way because you couldn't see your feet while you were walking? I heard that can happen when people make themselves invisible."

 

"Has never happened to me," Harry replied curtly, uncertain whether she was having him on or not. It was sometimes hard to tell with Luna. "And I didn't get lost, I came here to wish you a happy birthday."

 

The way Luna's face lit up made him feel a bit guilty. He'd known how much their friendship meant to her, after all; he should have thought of asking her when her birthday was. "Also, the kitchen elves are sending you the cake."

 

"That's so sweet of them, and of you as well." He'd never seen Luna smile like this before. "Do you want to come in so we can light the candles?" She plucked the cake out of the air and stepped back from the door to let Harry enter, but he hesitated.

 

" _Can_ I come in? I know you've got your own room, but it's technically still a girls' dormitory."

 

"Yes, but the protective magic only works while the girls living in it aren't of age. The teachers don't want the seventh year students to find out about this, of course, but the elves told me. They know a lot more about the castle than anyone else, you see."

 

"I bet." Harry still felt slightly apprehensive when he followed Luna into her room, but nothing happened; obviously she had for once chosen to believe someone who actually knew what they were talking about.

 

The room looked much like his and Ron's, except that it had only one bed in it. The first thing Harry noticed once he was inside was his own scowling photograph with the words "UNDESIRABLE NO. 1" flashing in red letters across his chest, glaring at him from a huge poster over the bed.

 

Luna saw him stare at the poster and gave him another beaming smile. "It's a nice photo, isn't it?"

 

"Where on earth did you get that?" Harry still wasn't quite over the initial shock; he truly hadn't expected to ever see one of those posters again.

 

"I accompanied Dad to the Ministry when he was going there in July to interview the new Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," Luna said while she set the cake on the desk and lit the candles with a wave of her wand. "They were in the middle of rearranging the offices, and there were several of these posters that they were going to throw out, so I asked if I could have one of them."

 

Harry felt his cheeks colour up at the thought of Luna asking for his poster at the Ministry, but he couldn't help feeling oddly touched at the same time – he still remembered the pictures of him and the others on Luna's bedroom ceiling.

 

"Now I get to make a wish!" Luna declared; she looked excited. "I haven't done this since I came to Hogwarts! What do I wish for?"

 

"Well, I can't know that, can I? Think of something you've wanted to come true for a long time."

 

Luna had a faraway look on her face for a moment; then she smiled, took a deep breath and blew out the candles. "There. Isn't this where you're supposed to sing something?"

 

"You don't want me to sing, believe me," Harry replied with a grin, "but – happy birthday, Luna. I –"

 

He suddenly had a hard time finding the right words. He wanted to wish her a year that would be as happy as the past one had been painful, wanted to thank her for her friendship and assure her how much it meant to him, but he couldn't think of anything that didn't sound awkward or pretentious. Instead, on an impulse, he reached out towards her and pulled her into a hug, hoping she would understand what he was trying to say.

 

Luna's arms came up to hug him back, and for a second, Harry allowed himself to enjoy the warm, friendly touch and the faint smell of peppermint and patchouli he'd come to associate with her. She didn't let go when he did, though; instead, she leaned in and pressed a kiss on his lips that could by no means be misunderstood as a friendly peck during a birthday celebration.

 

Harry froze, uncertain how to react. His astonishment must have shown on his face, because Luna, whose arms were still around his neck, gave him another brilliant smile. "Well, that wish didn't take long to come true, did it?"

 

Harry didn't know what to think any more. "That's what you were wishing for? A kiss?"

 

Luna's smile turned impish. "For starters, yes."

 

"What?" Harry quickly took a step back, out of the reach of her arms. "Luna, listen – I really like you, you're a great friend, but I – I mean, I'm not –"

 

"Oh, I'm not in love with you or anything," Luna replied serenely, as if she'd known what he was about to say. "Come here, have a seat." She sat down on the bed and patted the covers beside her; after a moment's hesitation, Harry sat down gingerly, feeling thoroughly ill at ease.

 

Luna placed a hand on his arm, but left it at that. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable," she said, sounding rather unconcerned. "When I was locked up at Malfoy Manor, I sometimes wondered whether I would ever make it out alive. Then I used to think about all the things I still wanted to do in my life, and how I wouldn't waste any time doing them if I ever got the chance. You never know how much time you still have, after all."

 

Her words struck a chord with Harry. The memory of his walk towards Voldemort's camp didn't bring up emotions any more, now that its essence was safely stored in McGonagall's cupboard, but he still recalled the feeling of regret at the thought of all the things he would never get a chance to do now.

 

"So I began making lists in my head," Luna continued. "It was a great way to pass the time; I thought of everything I wanted to do, and then imagined how exactly I was going to do it. I'd never been with a boy, but this was definitely something I wanted to try, so I used to imagine being with you."

 

"Me?" Harry had a hard time imagining Luna fantasizing about him in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor. "But why me?"

 

"There aren't that many boys I like, and hardly any who also like me," Luna answered with her typical directness. "Neville is my friend, and I think Ron Weasley is too, but I've always liked you best."

 

Harry was too stunned to come up with a reply, but it seemed Luna didn't expect one anyway. "I remembered how you asked me to come to the party with you during sixth year. You said we would go as friends, and it made me think that there are other things we could do as friends as well. Last year made me realise that you shouldn't put off anything you really want to do, in case you never get another chance later."

 

Harry was beginning to wonder whether he'd fallen asleep in the corridor and was having a rather bizarre dream. "Isn't it the bloke who's supposed to use the 'I don't want to die a virgin' line?"

 

"I don't know," Luna answered with obvious interest, "do you want to?"

 

"What, die a virgin? Not particularly, no – but..."

 

"Well, then," Luna said in a tone of satisfaction and kissed him again.

 

* * *

 

The first grey light of dawn was filtering through the window when Harry woke up in an unfamiliar bed, feeling drowsy and slightly disoriented, but also relaxed and utterly comfortable. It took him a moment to recall where he was and how he'd ended up here, with the warm weight of another naked body snug against his – he'd gone to wish Luna a happy birthday, and she had asked him in and kissed him and...

 

He felt almost giddy for a second when the events of the previous night finally began resurfacing in his memory. _Bloody hell, Harry, you really did it_. He'd really spent the night with Luna, who was now snoring softly against his shoulder while her hair tickled his neck.

 

Harry stretched gingerly, careful not to disturb her. It felt surprisingly nice to wake up like this, just like everything that had happened last night had felt good – a bit awkward, since neither of them really knew what they were doing, but good nevertheless. Harry wasn't sure what he had expected from the first time he had sex, but it certainly hadn't been this gentle, heartbreaking sweetness that had left him with a strange ache in his chest. He'd only noticed the wetness on his cheeks when Luna had kissed it away afterwards, but the memory of it made him wrap an arm around her and pull her closer.

 

Luna murmured something and buried her head in the crook of his neck, reminding Harry of a kitten Mrs Figg had once had. "Luna, are you awake?"

 

"I am now." Luna raised her head, blinking owlishly while her hair was falling into her eyes. Harry had the feeling that he should say something, but he wasn't really sure what would be appropriate under the circumstances. Like so many times before, Luna saved him the trouble.

 

"That was a very nice birthday present." She was smiling that impish smile again, and it was suddenly easy for him to grin back.

 

"If I'd known that it was supposed to be a present, I'd have tied a ribbon around my dick."

 

Luna stared at him with her mouth hanging open for a second; then she started laughing so hard that the whole bed shook, and after a moment, Harry found himself joining in. He couldn't remember when he'd last laughed like this, until his sides ached and his eyes were swimming, as if he didn't have a care in the world. Luna was gasping for breath when she finally calmed down, and Harry felt extremely dismayed by the realisation that he had to leave soon.

 

"I should probably go back to my own room now before anyone else is up – I doubt McGonagall would be happy if she found out that you've let me spend the night here, Head Girl or not."

 

"Hmm." Luna snuggled up to him again. "It's okay if you don't want anyone to know about this, Harry."

 

It took Harry a moment to get what she meant. "Do you think I'm ashamed of you?"

 

"No, of course not." Luna's words were interrupted by a yawn before she continued. "I just thought you might be a bit embarrassed. I'm sure many people will wonder what a hero like you might want with someone like me." There was no bitterness in her tone, but the implication stung nevertheless.

 

"If we can sleep together as friends, we can also go out together as friends." It cost Harry some effort to hide his indignation on her behalf. "Anyone who has a problem with that can kiss my arse."

 

Luna burst out laughing again, and it struck Harry how much he liked her laughter, even though it did have some similarities with the braying of a donkey. He gave her a quick kiss before he reluctantly slipped out of bed and started to get dressed. She sat up in bed and watched him quite unabashedly, and Harry hoped very much he wasn't blushing. Luna seemed completely unconcerned about her own nakedness; unlike the women in the movies Harry remembered from his life in the Muggle world, she made no attempt to pull the blanket up over her breasts.

 

She held out her hand towards him once he was dressed and pulled him back to the bed for another lingering kiss. When they finally broke apart, she smiled and simply asked, "Friends?"

 

Harry smiled back, feeling more at home in his own skin than he had for a long time. "Always."

 

* * *

 

He assumed that Ron would still be asleep when he quietly opened the door to their room, but he found him sitting upright in bed with his arms crossed over his chest. "Where have you been?"

 

"Good morning to you too." Harry did his best to sound nonchalant, but his attempt seemed to fall flat. It hadn't even occurred to him that Ron might worry about him. Ron gave him a sharp look, and Harry couldn't help the blush that crept up his face under such close scrutiny.

 

"Tell me you weren't with Ginny tonight."

 

That brought Harry up short; he'd never have expected Ron to even consider the possibility. "Of course I wasn't."

 

Ron's whole posture relaxed at this. His scowling expression changed to something that looked almost predatory. "Okay, mate, then I want details."


	12. Chapter 12

Harry toed off his shoes and flopped onto the bed, mostly to avoid Ron's gaze. "What makes you so sure that I was with anyone tonight?"

 

Ron's answering grin was downright dirty. "If you gave yourself that hickey on your neck, I really want to hear how you did it."

 

Without thinking, Harry pulled the collar of his shirt up, which caused Ron's grin to widen even further. "Forget it, mate, it's right under your left ear, you'll have to charm it away before someone sees it."

 

"Before someone _else_ sees it, you mean?" Harry asked pointedly, but Ron was undeterred.

 

"Who cares about that now? Spill!"

 

Harry closed his eyes and stretched languidly. "What if I don't want to talk about it?"

 

"Then I'll tell Hermione and let her question you." Ron snickered when Harry's eyes flew open again at this.

 

"You wouldn't!"

 

"Not if you tell me now."

 

Harry sighed; he wasn't really planning not to tell Ron, but he would have liked a bit of time to think about everything that had happened first. Ron seemed quite serious about his threat, though. "I was with Luna."

 

Ron made a face. "Fine, don't tell me, I'm sure Hermione will get you to talk."

 

"I'm not kidding," Harry replied impatiently; the fact that Ron dismissed the possibility out of hand rankled a bit. "A house-elf told me it was her birthday yesterday, and I went to her room to wish her a happy birthday, and it – well, it happened."

 

"God, you're serious." Ron seemed to have trouble digesting the news. "But – Luna, of all the girls in this school? I mean, don't get me wrong, she's great, but she's also... well, she's Luna! I had no idea you fancied her!"

 

"I don't," Harry replied curtly, regretting that he'd ever mentioned Luna's name. "And I don't think she fancies me either. We're friends, that's all there is."

 

"Except for the fact that you spent the night in her room, which doesn't look like friendship to me."

 

Harry shot him a glare. "You're one to talk. At least I _am_ friends with her, which I suppose is more than you could say about Lavender."

 

He got some petty satisfaction from the way Ron's cheeks coloured up. "All right, I'll give you that."

 

"Since you're so busy nosing around in my private affairs, how about answering a few questions yourself? Did you ever get more than just lessons in face-eating from Lavender?" He'd been wondering that for a long time, but he'd never had the guts to ask Ron about it.

 

Ron's grimace was a strange mix between embarrassment and smugness. "Mate, her blow jobs were the only reason I put up with her for so long." Noticing Harry's expression, he added quickly, "I know, I know, and I'm not particularly proud of it, okay?"

 

"I wasn't – " Harry paused, trying to find words for what went through his mind. He remembered the feeling of Luna's arms around him, the warmth of her skin, the softness of her lips against his, and how he'd felt her heartbeat against his cheek when he'd fallen asleep with his head nestled in the crook of her shoulder. "I didn't mean to say that you shouldn't have done it. It's just that I can't imagine sleeping with a girl I don't like."

 

"Well, I didn't say I –" Ron had been avoiding Harry's gaze, but now his head whipped around as if something Harry had said had only now registered on him. "Wait a moment, you _slept_ with Luna?"

 

Harry gave him an incredulous look. "What did you think we did all night, play Exploding Snap?"

 

"Bloody hell." Ron's eyes were round as saucers. "Here I am thinking you're still sulking over Ginny, and you go and get laid."

 

Harry shrugged; Ginny was a topic he really didn't want to broach. "It's not as if you and Hermione hold the monopoly or something, you know." Ron didn't answer, but his blush was now reaching nuclear brilliance. Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Does that mean you haven't?"

 

"Not – well, not quite." Ron started plucking at the hem of his pyjama jacket. "We've... fooled around, but we haven't... well, quite gone all the way yet."

 

Harry shrugged again, taking pity on Ron's stammering. "Nothing wrong with that." He was rather surprised he wasn't more embarrassed himself – Ron was his best mate, but they hadn't ever really discussed these matters on such a personal level before, so he'd have expected the whole situation to be a lot more awkward. Perhaps Luna's unconcerned attitude was contagious.

 

"I know, but – " Ron hesitated, but then pressed on. "It's – I really don't want to mess this up, you know? She's probably read _books_ about it."

 

Harry couldn't help grinning at the image of Hermione doing research on sexual techniques with colour-coded notes, but he knew better than to mention that. "You'll be fine, Ron. It's not that difficult, trust me."

 

Ron threw a pillow at him. "Hey, one night doesn't make you an expert, you smug git!" He grew serious again when he added, "Or are you going back for more?"

 

Harry pondered the question. The idea of waking up with Luna again was definitely attractive; he couldn't remember when he'd last felt so safe and at peace. If they could do it once as friends, why not more than once too? "Yes, I suppose I am. Do you have a problem with that?"

 

"Not at all." Ron sounded like he meant it. "I'd rather have you hook up with Luna than keep mooning over my sister. It won't be pretty if she ever hears about this, though."

 

Harry winced. "Tell me something I don't know." He paused for a moment, carefully choosing his words. "Ron, I really hate doing anything that would hurt Ginny, but – if I keep this up, you understand that I can't very well keep it quiet?"

 

"Of course not. It would be pretty rotten behaviour towards Luna, if nothing else. Don't worry about Ginny, she'll come around. She can't expect you to never see anyone else, now that you've broken up."

 

Harry didn't mention that Ginny had already asked Neville out; Ron didn't need to know that, and after last night, he could understand it if Ginny was looking for the same kind of comfort Luna had given him. He hoped for her sake that she'd find it, even if he still had a hard time accepting the fact that it wouldn't be with him.

 

* * *

 

The bell had signalled the end of the day's last lesson ten minutes ago, but the door of the Defence classroom still hadn't opened. Draco was pointedly checking his watch for the fifth time while muttering something under his breath, obviously hoping to get a rise out of Harry, but Harry merely rolled his eyes. Snape had ordered them here to prepare the next lesson after he was done with teaching the younger seventh years, but he seemed to be working overtime today. Harry didn't like waiting in a draughty corridor any more than Draco did, but it hardly seemed worth making a fuss over.

 

Luna was among the first students to come out of the classroom when the door finally opened. Her face lit up as she spotted Harry, who grinned at her in return; today she had her hair done up in a bun with her wand stuck through it. She had stopped tucking it behind her ear after she'd almost taken Harry's eye out with it a few days earlier, and ever since, she kept coming up with creative new ways of carrying it on her person. Harry's favourite had been the day when she'd shoved it into her bra so that the handle poked out between her collarbones, but unfortunately Professor McGonagall had put a stop to that.

 

There were a few whispers from the students passing them when she kissed Harry on the cheek, but Harry didn't pay attention to them. He'd done nothing to hide the fact that he and Luna were seeing each other, but as far as he could tell, there had been surprisingly little reaction to it. It was, of course, entirely possible that they were all talking about nothing else behind his back, but he honestly didn't care.

 

"My God, Potter, it's _true_ that you and Loony Lovegood have hooked up? I thought Blaise was having me on."

 

Harry clenched his teeth. Of course, if there was anyone in this school who didn't know when to keep his trap shut, it was Draco Malfoy. If he'd been alone with the git, he'd have given him a choice answer, but he didn't want to start a fight in front of Luna, so he decided to ignore him entirely.

 

Luna, however, seemed to have other ideas. "Yes, it's true," she replied mildly, giving Draco her brightest smile. "But I didn't know you cared so much about Harry's love life."

 

It was, Harry had to admit, a rather elegant comeback, but Draco took it in stride. "Oh, it's not as if I care," he answered with a smirk. "I only have a hard time deciding just who's the pity fuck in this relationship."

 

Harry's hand twitched towards his wand, but to his utter surprise, Luna burst out laughing. She laughed until she had to lean against Harry because her whole body shook; Harry was half expecting another snide comment from Draco about this, but then he noticed Draco was grinning in a way that didn't even look particularly malicious.

 

"That," Luna finally gasped between fits of giggles, "that was really funny, wasn't it, Harry?"

 

Harry failed to see any humour in the remark, but he couldn't help it that the sight of Luna, with her beet-red face and her streaming eyes, made him laugh too. It felt weird to stand there laughing about something that should have made him hex Draco on the spot, but it was strangely liberating, as if he'd entered a realm where petty insults couldn't touch him any more.

 

He was getting used to the fact that Luna constantly surprised him, but it still came as a bit of a shock when she suddenly turned towards Draco and said, "I'm glad you're feeling better."

 

Draco's grin faded. "What are you talking about? I wasn't ill."

 

"No, I mean better than when I was locked up in your parents' dungeon," Luna said serenely. "You looked like death warmed over whenever they sent you down to bring me food. Thanks for being nice to me then, by the way."

 

It wasn't lost on Harry how Draco paled at this. "What do you mean? I never said a word to you!" There was an edge of panic in his voice that filled Harry with no small amount of satisfaction.

 

"Yes, that's what I meant," Luna answered with a smile. "Sometimes they sent Fenrir Greyback, and _he_ said quite a lot of things." Her tone was light, but her words still chilled Harry to the bone; he reached out to put an arm around her before he even realised what he was doing. Draco was visibly fighting to keep his composure; only Luna seemed unperturbed.

 

"I won't keep you any longer, Professor Snape must be waiting for you. Be careful in there, Harry, I could swear I felt a Wrackspurt zooming around, and they're particularly nasty at this time of year." She gave him another peck on the cheek, nodded at Draco and then left them to stare after her until she'd disappeared behind the next corner.

 

Draco was the first to find his voice again. "Your girlfriend is quite a piece of work, Potter, I'll give you that."

 

Harry turned to face him. "She is that," he answered calmly, "and I assure you I'll make you regret it until the end of your miserable life if you ever say anything like what you said before to her again."

 

"Whatever." Draco made a strange grimace, as if he couldn't decide whether he wanted to sneer or frown. "I've marked her essays, I know she isn't nearly as barking as she looks. I would even say she was quite smart if it weren't for her taste in men."

 

Before Harry could come up with a reply, he'd disappeared into Snape's classroom, and Harry had no other choice than to follow him.

 

* * *

 

It had snowed heavily the night before the next Hogsmeade weekend in late November, and their boots crunched through the thin layer of ice on top of the snow on their way to the village. Ron and Hermione, their arms around each other, were marching ahead, with Harry and Luna following them. In spite of warming charms and woollen gloves, Harry's fingers were so cold that he could hardly feel them, but he still clutched the hand Luna had held out towards him when they'd met outside the school gate. It had been a such a simple gesture, like many others she'd made in the course of the past month, but he'd come to treasure them more than he'd ever expected.

 

He'd almost been hoping that he would develop some kind of romantic feelings for Luna at some point, but so far there was no sign of it. Still, he greatly enjoyed their time together; just the fact that she was there by his side gave him a sense of belonging he'd rarely ever experienced in his life. As December drew nearer and the first Christmas decorations started appearing at the school, he had even caught himself slipping back into his old Christmas morning fantasy, with a bunch of children dancing around a tree and a warm body snug against his on the sofa; only now the children were blond instead of red-headed, and it was Luna, not Ginny, who was watching them with him and laughing at their excitement when they opened their presents.

 

He knew it was never going to happen – they just didn't feel for each other that way, and whatever it was they had going, it wouldn't outlast the school year. He didn't care, though; the fantasy was nice, and it made for a welcome distraction whenever he woke up from another dream that left him with the lingering image of Voldemort's cold red eyes on him, or a long row of still, broken bodies on the flagstones of the Great Hall. The nightmares usually were diffuse and not nearly as intense as they'd been at the beginning of the school year, but Harry was still glad there was a safe place for his mind to retreat to whenever he needed it. He hardly ever dreamed when he spent the night in Luna's bed, but if it did happen, she would hold him close and tell him weird little stories that made absolutely no sense until he fell asleep again.

 

The sex was fun too, although Luna seemed rather more interested in this aspect of their relationship than Harry was, which troubled him somewhat. There were evenings when he just couldn't muster up the energy and wanted nothing but to fall asleep with her curled up against him. Luna never said anything about it; she usually waited for him to initiate sex and seemed content with just a bit of snogging if he didn't. Even though Harry spent several nights in her room each week, they didn't actually make love all that often, and it didn't seem to bother Luna overmuch. Harry was grateful for it, but he still couldn't help wondering if there was something wrong with him because according to everything he'd heard from boys his age, he should by rights be the one who couldn't keep his hands off her.

 

Luna was rather adventurous in bed and liked to try new things (it made Harry suspect that it was actually her, not Hermione, who had read up extensively on the subject), and although Harry went along with her suggestions to please her, they usually didn't do much for him. What he liked best was to feel her close to him, her warm, smooth skin under his palms and the steady, reassuring pulse of her heartbeat against his.

 

Remembering the excruciating conversation with Ron on the first day of school, Harry had tried to concentrate on memories of the nights he'd spent with Luna when he was forced to make do with his own hands, but that was no smashing success either. He'd never really seen the point of wanking fantasies; it was something he did to take care of his body's demands, but six years in a dormitory had taught him to be quick and efficient about it. He preferred thinking of Luna during a quiet moment in class, or when he took a break from studying and ended up staring out of the window for a while. Then he pictured her laughter, the familiar smell of peppermint and patchouli that always surrounded her, her sparkling eyes when she spoke of her beloved magical beasts nobody else had ever heard of, and it caused a curious feeling of warmth to spread in his chest that felt almost better than anything he ever experienced during sex. It seemed a bit weird, but then, that was probably fitting when you were together with Luna Lovegood.

 

They reached the village just as it started snowing again. They went to Honeydukes first, and Luna managed to greatly impress Ron with her ability to keep an Acid Pop and a Pepper Imp in her mouth at the same time without so much as blinking, while Hermione winced in sympathy and Harry swore to himself that there would be no tongue during their next kiss. Then they made their way over to the Three Broomsticks, which was already packed; they managed to get one of the last free tables in a corner, and Ron went to get the first round of drinks for them. Luna and Hermione were comparing the sweets they had bought, and Harry leaned back in his seat and allowed himself a moment of utter contentment at the warm, comfortable normality of it all. He remembered sitting here with Ron and Hermione during their last visit and feeling like an intruder on what should have been their time together, but this was okay, it was just two couples out together to enjoy a Saturday afternoon.

 

Ron made his way back through the crowd with four foaming mugs of Butterbeer. Just as he put them on the table, the door opened, and he looked up and grimaced as if he'd tried Luna's Acid Pop/Pepper Imp stunt.

 

"Oi, Malfoy! Finally found someone who's willing to go out with you?"

 

Harry craned his neck and spotted Draco, his hair glittering with melting snowflakes, who had just entered the pub in the company of a sixth-year Ravenclaw boy whose name Harry didn't know. Draco ignored Ron, but the other boy, who had clearly heard what Ron had said, blushed furiously when he followed Draco to the bar.

 

"He's got some nerve, showing up here after what he did to Madam Rosmerta," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "Sit down, Ron, I won't have you pick a fight with him here."

 

"Fight with him? I bet he'd have run before I even got to that," Ron murmured under his breath, but sat down and reached for his Butterbeer nevertheless.

 

"Well, Madam Rosmerta doesn't work here any more," Luna remarked. "I heard she was scared of the Chappwickle living in the attic."

 

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she didn't say anything. Harry experienced a wave of gratitude; he knew how much Hermione would have liked to point out that all those fancy creatures Luna believed in didn't exist, and the fact that she was willing to hold her tongue for his sake meant a lot to him. He was still thinking about a safe topic of discussion when the door opened again, and Hermione, who was facing it, muttered "Oh dear" under her breath.

 

Harry didn't turn around; there was no need to. "It's Ginny, isn't it?"

 

"Yes, with Neville and Dean." Hermione sounded a bit embarrassed. "I don't think she's seen... erm, well, I think she now has."

 

"How afraid should I be?" Harry was quite amazed how calm he felt; perhaps it was thanks to Luna's hand that had slipped into his under the table so that Ginny wouldn't be able to spot it.

 

"Well, I wouldn't turn around if I were you, mate," Ron said with a grin that seemed highly inappropriate to Harry, given that it was Ron's sister they were discussing. "She'd give Slytherin's basilisk a run for its money. They're sitting down now, though, so I don't think she'll throw a hex your way."

 

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "She's been ignoring me for the past two months, I don't see why that would change now."

 

"You should consider yourself lucky," Ron pointed out; he still appeared mostly amused by the whole encounter. "It's better than Bat-Bogey Hexes, isn't it?"

 

"Yes, and Ginny is rather good at them too," Luna added earnestly, which finally broke the tension. Harry reached for his Butterbeer and decided that he wasn't going to ruin a perfect afternoon by worrying about Ginny; there was nothing he could do about her, after all.

 

When he looked up from his glass, he spotted Draco at the bar, who was casting a furtive glance in his direction and then quickly looked away again. Harry fleetingly wondered if the Slytherin git was up to something since he and his Ravenclaw companion seemed rather ill at ease, but he wasn't willing to worry about _him_ today either.


	13. Chapter 13

It wasn't until they reached the gargoyle in front of the hidden staircase which led up to McGonagall's office that Harry began to have second thoughts.

 

"Luna, perhaps this isn't such a –" He faltered under the intensity of her wide-eyed gaze, ashamed of himself for this pathetic admission of weakness. He'd lived through the real thing, and now he didn't dare to face the memory?

 

"Would you rather go by yourself?" Luna took a step away from the gargoyle, although she didn't let go of his hand. It struck Harry that the idea that he might chicken out didn't even seem to have crossed her mind.

 

He shook his head vigorously. "That's the last thing I want. Forget what I said before, let's get it over with. Siamese!"

 

At the last word, the gargoyle sprang to life and moved aside to let them step onto the moving staircase that would take them up to the Headmistress.

 

Harry held on to Luna's hand as he reached for the brass knocker; he couldn't help it that his heart was in his throat. He'd been so sure that he'd be able to face this, now that his life had begun to resemble something like normality again and his dreams were no longer haunted by the shadows of the dead. McGonagall had reminded him several times to put the memory back where it belonged as soon as he felt ready, and during the last days, he had begun to realise that he might indeed have recovered enough to do it. He knew who he had to thank for it, too, and he was immensely glad that Luna had agreed to accompany him when he'd told her what he was planning.

 

McGonagall was already waiting for them, the Pensieve full of swirling mist before her on the desk. She got up from her chair when Harry and Luna entered, simply said, "I'll be in the next room if you need me, Potter," and left.

 

It was very quiet for a moment. Luna eyed the contents of the Pensive with a thoughtful expression.

 

"You really think I'll be able to see them?"

 

"I'm sure of it," Harry replied without hesitation. "You'll step into my memory; you'll see everything I saw, only from the outside. Stay close to me?" The last question was a plea he wasn't able to suppress, but Luna merely smiled her dreamy smile and tightened her hold on his hand.

 

"Of course I will. On the count of three?"

 

Harry nodded, took a deep breath and approached the Pensieve. They leaned over it, and at Luna's "Three!" they both plunged their faces into the swirling mist of Harry's memory.

 

There was the familiar feeling of falling, and then Harry found himself standing on the dewy grass next to Hagrid's hut. It was dark, and the lights of the castle stood out like beacons in the distance. He looked over his shoulder and saw a swarm of Dementors guarding the edge of the forest; it was strange to perceive them without feeling their presence in any way.

 

Then something moved in the darkness, a figure outlined by a silvery shadow that was slowly coming closer. Harry's breath caught in his throat; it was him, under the Invisibility Cloak, walking towards the forest to meet his death there.

 

He'd never been so glad of the warm, secure touch of Luna's hand in his. "Do you see him?"

 

Luna nodded. "It's you under your Cloak. You were right, I can see what you saw when it happened."

 

Harry watched himself slowly approach the place where they were standing. The boy in front of him looked like a stranger; much younger than Harry thought he appeared, his grimy face deathly pale and set in a frozen expression of forced calm that wasn't reflected in his eyes, which were wide with fear. He was dragging his feet, slowing down more and more as he came closer to the forest. He passed them by, and Harry signalled Luna that they should walk beside him, accompanying him on his lonely march towards death.

 

At the edge of the forest, the boy stopped; he'd spotted the Dementors among the trees, and although Harry had no memory of the gut-wrenching terror that had overtaken him back then, he saw the boy tremble and felt as if he were standing there in his stead, on his way into the jaws of death, trying to muster up the strength to throw his life away so that a prophecy that had been made before he'd even been born could be fulfilled.

 

Then the boy reached into the pouch around his neck and pulled out a Snitch. He stared at it for a moment, breathing hard, then raised it to his lips and murmured against the metal, "I am about to die."

 

Harry heard Luna take a deep breath; he must have forgotten to mention that sentence when he had told her what had happened on his way into the forest. Under the silvery sheen of the Cloak, the boy lowered his hand, raised Draco's wand, and murmured, " _Lumos_ ". It was impossible to make out the little object on his palm, but Harry didn't need to see it to know what it was.

 

The boy closed his eyes and turned the Resurrection Stone over three times.

 

When he opened his eyes again, his expression changed completely. Even though he still seemed anxious, there was a look of hope and longing on his face; he was staring straight ahead of him, and after a moment, his lips moved soundlessly.

 

Then he began walking again, his steps longer and more secure than before, towards the dark, silent mass of the forest in the distance.

 

Harry wanted to move, to follow, but his feet seemed to be made of lead; he could only stare after the lonely figure of the boy as he disappeared among the swarming Dementors under the trees.

 

"I'm afraid it didn't work after all, Harry." Luna's voice was barely above a whisper, but in the deep silence around them it was as if she had shouted. "I couldn't see them."

 

"I couldn't see them either." Harry felt strangely numb; he was almost ready to believe that none of this was real, that he would wake up any moment to realise that he'd been caught up in another nightmare. "I saw nothing but myself. They – they weren't there."

 

* * *

 

The first thing Harry saw when he drew back from the Pensieve was the careworn face of Albus Dumbledore's portrait, who was watching him from out of his frame. His eyes behind the half-moon glasses showed no sign of the twinkle they had possessed during his lifetime.

 

"Hello, Harry, my dear boy. It is good to see you again."

 

Harry didn't answer; he didn't think his voice would obey him if he tried.

 

"Miss Lovegood, would you mind giving us a moment?" Dumbledore sounded kind, but it was still a demand, not a request. "It appears to me that Harry and I have some things to discuss."

 

"No." Suddenly it was easy to speak again. "She stays right here with me." Whatever was going to happen, Harry was absolutely sure that he would not, _could_ not face it alone. There had already been too many things between him and Dumbledore that he'd been forced to keep to himself.

 

"As you wish." Dumbledore put the tips of his long fingers together in the way Harry remembered so well. "I suppose you have many questions to ask."

 

"You know what I saw just now?" Harry still wasn't sure what to think; a part of him desperately wanted to start yelling at Dumbledore, while another part just wished to walk out, hide in the darkest corner of the school and never come out again.

 

"Perhaps. Professor McGonagall informed me that you were going back to your most troublesome memory, and I think I can guess what it might have been."

 

Harry took a deep breath. "I went back to the moment I figured out the secret of the Snitch you sent me."

 

"Ah." Dumbledore seemed taken aback for a split second, but then quickly regained his composure. Still, there was something about him that made Harry think he was – uneasy? "That's not quite what I expected."

 

"Was it real?" Harry hated the way his voice trembled, but there was nothing he could do about it. "What I saw when I used the stone – did it really happen, or did I imagine it all?"

 

"I've told you before, Harry," Dumbledore replied softly, "only because something happens inside your head doesn't mean –"

 

"Don't you _dare_." Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry noticed Luna giving him an alarmed look. "I want a clear answer this time. I saw them when I used the stone – my parents, and Sirius and Remus. They had come to fetch me, and they... they said that they were proud of me, and that they'd stay with me all the way, until the end. I'd never... I knew I had to go to him so that he could kill me, but I wouldn't have been able to do it without them. And now I went back there, and I saw only myself, all alone! They said they'd be invisible to anyone else, but this was _my_ memory in the Pensieve, they should have been there if it was real! Who... _what_ did I see back then, if it wasn't them?"

 

"You saw what you wanted and needed to see in that moment, Harry." Dumbledore sounded remarkably calm.

 

"What?" Harry stared at him blankly. "But – I used the stone, and even though it was broken, it worked –"

 

"Oh yes." Now there was a hint of regret in Dumbledore's tone. "It still worked. Such is the power of the Resurrection Stone, my boy, as I found out when I foolishly tried to use it. Had I not been told all my life that no magic could bring back the dead? But I still kept believing in the power of the Hallows."

 

"When my mother told me the story of the three brothers, she always said that anyone using the stone would bring back nothing but echoes and shadows." Harry did a double-take at Luna's words; she was looking at Dumbledore as if he had just presented her with one of the puzzles Ravenclaws were so fond of. "I remember it well; I often thought of it after she died."

 

Dumbledore sighed. "Then she was a wise woman, Miss Lovegood, and not prone to false hopes and empty dreams as so many others who sought the stone have been, myself included. Shadows and echoes indeed, but the stone's magic is more ingenious than just that. It shows us what we expect to see at that very moment – not necessarily what we want to see, but what we, deep in our souls, believe is going to happen. Those who love us are always near us in death, Harry, you knew that – so you saw your parents, your godfather, and your favourite teacher, coming for you to guide you on the path you were destined to go."

 

Luna gave the portrait the unwavering look Harry had come to know so well. "I don't think my mum would have let me go to my death."

 

There was deep silence for a moment, and Harry suddenly had trouble breathing. He remembered it so well, the silent horror that had haunted his nights, the suffocating feeling of betrayal when his dreams had showed him his parents luring him towards a fate he did not want to face, the twisted, sickening looks of disappointment on their faces when he had tried to resist –

 

"I knew I had to die," he whispered. "I knew there was no way around it, and they – they were helping me along, encouraging me –"

 

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "At that moment you were convinced they would, Harry, so that's what you saw when you used the stone. When I sent it to you, I wasn't certain what it would show you, but I knew that it would be whatever you needed to help you do what you must."

 

"But it was you – " Harry paused, trying to recall what exactly had happened during that day. His memories of it were blurred and chaotic, but one thing stood out clearly in his mind. "It was you who told me what I must do – you told Snape, so that he would tell me when the time was right –"

 

"And he did." Dumbledore sighed. "Poor Severus, it was the last thing he ever did in his life."

 

"You _bastard_." The words were hardly more than a low hiss, cold and hateful. Harry's head whipped around to where they had come from – next to the window, half-hidden by the curtains, was a small picture frame that had always been empty when he had seen it before, but now it showed Severus Snape's face, white with fury. A few other portraits of former Heads of Hogwarts began muttering indignantly, but he didn't even seem to notice them.

 

"How dare you?" Harry had seen Snape angry on many occasions, but never like this. "You made him believe that his mother _wanted_ him to go to his death? Lily Evans would have killed you with her own bare hands if she had known that you were raising him like a pig for slaughter! She'd have let the whole world go down in flames before she'd have allowed anyone to harm her son! How dare you befoul her memory like this – Black and Lupin would have ripped your heart out if they'd known!"

 

When Dumbledore didn't answer, Snape suddenly directed his wrath at Harry. "How could even an utter idiot like you ever fall for this charade? You knew what she had done for your sake! She threw her life away to save your useless neck, and that's how you repay her?"

 

Harry was completely dumbstruck; his brain seemed to be filled with fog, and all he could do was stand there and stare at Snape. He barely noticed the wand touching his temple until images began flooding into his mind – the forest, the darkness, the mind-numbing horror, and the relief that had flooded him at the sight of the four ghostly figures...

 

Then small, firm hands grabbed his shoulders, and Luna's voice said close to his ear, "Let's get you out of here."

 

* * *

 

They only made it back into the corridor with the gargoyle before Harry's legs collapsed under him. He remained sitting where he was, with his back against the wall, drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. After a moment's hesitation, Luna sat down on the cold stone floor right next to him.

 

She didn't speak, and neither did he; all he could think of was the memory of his parents' voices in his head, his father's panicked shout, _Lily, take Harry and go! Run, I'll hold him off..._

 

And then his mother, screaming, pleading... _Not Harry, please, not Harry..._

 

It was the only real memory he had of them, even if it had taken Dementors to force it back into his consciousness. Echoes and shadows, everything else – but this had been real, had been _them_ as he had heard them back then, during the last moments of their lives, trying to keep him safe until the very end.

 

They had wanted him to live. They had put him above everything else, above their duty, their allegiances, their own lives. He had known for years, and he had heard so much about the power of his mother's sacrifice, but now Harry felt that he could, for the very first time, truly grasp what it meant that that his mum and dad had died for him – not because of prophecies, oaths, or magical bonds, but simply because he was their child. He thought of Mr Lovegood and Mrs Malfoy, both willing to betray their own side for the sake of their children, and of plump, motherly Mrs Weasley, who had killed without hesitation when it had been the only way to save her daughter.

 

He didn't let himself dwell on what Dumbledore had done. There would be time to think about that later, to feel the shock and anger he couldn't muster right now. The only thing he felt at this very moment was the heady, strangely elating sensation of incredible relief.

 

Harry didn't know how long he had already been sitting on the chilly flagstones of the corridor, with Luna's quiet, reassuring presence by his side, when the sound of quick footsteps approaching began to register on him. They stopped dead once they'd rounded the last corner separating them from the spot next to the gargoyle.

 

Harry looked up and saw Draco Malfoy, glowering at him with flashing eyes.

 

"Potter, what the hell are you doing here on the floor? You were supposed to meet me in Snape's classroom half an hour ago, but the only one who turned up was Snape in a spitting rage! Do you think I've got nothing better to do than chase after you?"

 

Reality swam back into focus, but the all-permeating feeling of relief stayed behind. Harry opened his mouth to reply and realised at the same moment that right now, he didn't want to fight with anyone, not even with Draco.

 

"I'm sorry. I'll come right away."

 

Draco watched them with a quizzical expression as Harry and Luna scrambled to their feet.

 

"You both look as if you'd seen Merlin's resurrected corpse walking the school grounds. What's going on?"

 

The automatic response _It's none of your business, Malfoy_ was immediately on the tip of Harry's tongue, but he couldn't bring himself to utter it. For some reason, he wanted to answer the question, wanted to say out loud what had happened, as if he needed to hear his own voice speak the words to convince him they were the truth.

 

"I just learned that my parents wouldn't have wanted me to get killed."

 

Draco eyed him as if he'd grown a second head. "And that was news to you?"

 

An image flashed through Harry's mind that he had thought of before – Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, their arms around their son, oblivious to the turmoil around them...

 

He took a deep breath and tried to rein the memories in. "Go back to the Defence classroom, Malfoy, I'll be there in a few minutes."

 

"You'd better." Draco threw him a last suspicious glance and then walked away, shaking his head.

 

Once he was out of earshot, Luna sighed and patted Harry's arm in a gesture of sympathy. "I don't think it's going to be much fun spending the evening with Professor Snape right now."

 

"I don't care." Harry meant it; how could Snape's bad mood possibly matter to him on such a day? "Don't worry about me, Luna, I'll survive."

 

"I know," Luna answered with that dreamy smile of hers. "You're good at it, after all."


	14. Chapter 14

Mrs Tonks, looking a bit harassed, shoved a squealing Teddy into Harry's arms the moment he entered the house. "Harry, I'm glad you're here, Teddy is impossible to calm down, and I've still got a hundred things to do before Christmas. Would you mind watching him for a while?"

 

"Of course not, Mrs Tonks." Harry dropped his bag and shrugged off his jacket with some difficulty since Teddy was already trying to get at his glasses. "Do you want me to take him upstairs so we're out of your hair?"

 

Mrs Tonks seemed relieved. "That would be wonderful, there's no way that I'll get any work done while he's underfoot."

 

Teddy couldn't walk yet, but Harry knew from experience that he was surprisingly fast on his hands and knees, and since he had a knack for getting into accidents that rivalled his late mother's, it was a bit of a challenge to keep him safe. The house was swathed in Protection Spells and Cushioning Charms, but Mrs Tonks was adamant that magic alone was not enough to keep a small child from harm.

 

In fact, Harry was quite glad of the chance to avoid her company for a while; there would be enough of that during the next days, and he was never sure how to behave around her. She was always friendly, but she still kept her distance, and he knew that his presence must bring up all kinds of painful memories for her. Her husband had died for siding with him, her daughter and son-in-law had been killed fighting _his_ battle – if he had been better, or faster, or cleverer at doing what he had been destined to do, Teddy wouldn't have to celebrate his first Christmas with only his grandmother and his godfather for company now.

 

He'd never dreaded Christmas as much as he had this year. He wouldn't have minded spending it with Luna, but she was going to Sweden with her father to visit some relative of theirs. The mere idea of celebrating with the Weasley family brought back memories of the summer months Harry had spent at the Burrow, in an atmosphere that was thick with sorrow and grief everybody tried to hide for his sake. Now there would be Ginny's silent resentment on top of that, and there was no telling how Mr and particularly Mrs Weasley would deal with the fact that Harry had broken up with their daughter and was now going out with somebody else.

 

Then Ron, looking extremely ill at ease, had taken Harry aside and informed him that he would spend Christmas with Hermione at her parents' house because they had insisted on finally wanting to meet their daughter's boyfriend. Harry hadn't been able to argue with that, but there was no way he was going to the Burrow for Christmas without Ron. During his next visit at Mrs Tonks', he had asked her if he could spend the holidays with her and Teddy.

 

Now he was here, and although he had no idea what to expect since he'd never spent more than an afternoon at a time in this house, he was convinced it had been the right choice. Teddy had a way of making him forget the world around him, and Harry passed the afternoon playing with him in the nursery until the little boy fell asleep right there on the floor. Mrs Tonks smiled at Harry when he came down the stairs with the sleeping child in his arms, although he noticed how she hastily blinked away a few tears when she thought he wasn't looking.

 

"I've cleared out Nymphadora's old room for you, you can take your stuff upstairs before dinner if you want to."

 

Harry hesitated. "Uh – thank you, Mrs Tonks, but I can sleep on the sofa in the living room if –"

 

"Harry," she interrupted him firmly, "it's all right. My daughter is dead, and it won't bring her back if I turn her room into a mausoleum. She has no need of it any more, but you do, so please go and make yourself at home." Harry didn't know what to say to that, so he merely nodded, handed her her grandson and took his bag upstairs.

 

The small room was colourful and comfortable. Harry sat down on the narrow bed for a moment and looked around; there didn't seem to be any of Tonks' personal belongings left in the room, but he still felt as if she were sitting next to him, watching him with that wide grin of hers while her hair flashed in every colour of the rainbow. It was a much better image than the last memory he had of her, still and pale on the floor of the Great Hall beside the body of her husband, and Harry did his best to hold on to it for a while.

 

* * *

 

He dreamed of Tonks and Mad-Eye Moody that night, but the only thing he still remembered when he woke up was that Tonks' hair had been bubble gum pink like when he'd first met her, and that Moody had worn an eye patch in the place where his magical eye should have been. Together with his clawed wooden leg, it had made him look like the pirate captain on the cover of a picture book Dudley had owned as a child.

 

Still sleepy and a bit disoriented, Harry scanned the unfamiliar room; it took him a while to recall where he was and that he should get out of bed because it was Christmas morning. He had put the presents for Teddy and Mrs Tonks under the Christmas tree before he'd gone to bed, and he didn't want to miss Teddy opening his presents at his first Christmas.

 

Mrs Tonks was already waiting for him with Teddy on her arm when he came down the stairs. She had lit the candles and fairy lights on the tree, and Teddy seemed so utterly fascinated by them that it wasn't easy to direct his attention towards the stack of parcels. There was no stopping him once he'd figured out that he was indeed allowed to rip the paper, though, and for a while he seemed more interested in the wrapping than in the presents themselves.

 

Harry eventually turned towards his own pile of presents; there were books from Hermione, a Cannons t-shirt from Ron, a bright blue Fwooper quill from Luna, homemade fudge from Kreacher (whom Harry had left at Grimmauld Place to take care of the house), a pocket knife from Hagrid (causing him to remember with a pang of guilt that he hadn't visited Hagrid once since school had started), and a framed photo of Teddy waving at the camera from Mrs Tonks.

 

Meanwhile, Teddy had abandoned the wrapping paper for the sake of the rocking Hippogriff Harry had bought for him and was busy trying to climb into the saddle. Harry watched with a grin; he had originally wanted to give him a toy broom, but then decided to wait a year or two when Luna had told him how she had once steered hers right through her parents' kitchen window.

 

"That was a wonderful idea for a gift, Harry, it will keep him entertained for weeks," Mrs Tonks said with a little smile. "And thank you for the scarf, it's lovely." Harry had had no idea what to give her, so he had asked Hermione and Luna for advice when they'd been to Hogsmeade for their Christmas shopping. After much debate, the two had agreed on a blue cashmere scarf with a Warming Charm woven into it.

 

"I'm glad you like it, Mrs Tonks."

 

"Very much so. But you've overlooked a parcel, see? The one under the heap of wrapping paper there is yours, too."

 

Harry reached for the small parcel with a sense of relief; the lack of Weasley jumpers among his presents had already made him worry that Mrs Weasley might be too angry with him to even send him anything for Christmas this year.

 

His relief was short-lived. The handwriting on the label was Mrs Tonks', reading _This isn't really a present, Harry, but it's yours – Happy Christmas._ Harry's heart sank; so he'd really been cut from the Weasley Christmas list. One present more or less meant little to him, but it had felt good to know that they counted him among their family members. He remembered the day Molly Weasley had told Sirius he was like a son to her, and the watch she had given him for his seventeenth birthday. She had welcomed him into her home and her family, and it hurt to think that he might no longer be welcome there now – even though he knew he deserved it, given how he had repaid her kindness.

 

It took him a second to realise that Mrs Tonks was waiting for him to open the parcel. The last thing he wanted was to offend anyone else close to him, so he quickly tore off the wrapping, revealing something that looked like a misshapen pencil. "I didn't have enough paper left, so I had to shrink it," Mrs Tonks explained while she raised her wand. " _Finite Incantatem_!"

 

The wooden stick in Harry's hands began to grow, with bristles sprouting from one end. Teddy stopped playing with his Hippogriff and watched with huge eyes; once Harry understood what he was holding, his expression probably didn't look much different.

 

"My Firebolt? But I lost it during – you didn't get me a new one, Mrs Tonks, did you?" Harry didn't really think she had; this was _his_ broom, there could be no doubt about it.

 

Mrs Tonks shook her head. "No, my n- someone found it a few miles from here and recognised it, so they brought it here. It wasn't too badly damaged, and I thought it would make for a nice Christmas surprise to have it fixed for you." Looking at Harry, she added with a wink, "I think it worked, too."

 

"Yes, definitely." Harry ran his hand over the smooth shaft, remembering the day he'd first flown it. He would never have thought that after everything that had happened, a broom could still mean that much to him, but holding his Firebolt again felt like a reunion with a long-lost friend. "Thank you for this, it – it means a lot to me."

 

"Don't mention it." She put her hand on his shoulder for a moment, startling him; apart from handshakes, she had never touched him before. "It's a beautiful morning; why don't you go flying for a while after breakfast?"

 

* * *

 

It was indeed a brilliantly beautiful winter's day, cold and clear, the trees and bushes glittering with frost. Harry's face went numb after just a few minutes in the air, and his fingers soon seemed frozen solid in spite of his thick gloves, but he flew on. He was waiting for the familiar feeling that had always come over him once he'd kicked off the ground – the feeling that all his worries and troubles had stayed behind there, leaving him weightless and carefree like a bird under the sky.

 

Flying had always been the source of his greatest happiness, but now the elation of being back in the air wouldn't come. The broomstick underneath him, the wind tugging at his hair, the rush of air in his ears – it was exactly as he remembered, and yet nothing like it had once been. He went into a few hazardous moves, looping and diving to recreate the excitement that had once come with such stunts, but now they only reminded him of dodging the fiery monsters in the Room of Requirement while he had tried not to lose sight of Ron's broom through the black smoke that had seared his lungs. He did his best to push the thought aside, to focus on the peaceful beauty of his surroundings instead, but it was no good; the old happiness just wouldn't return.

 

Shivering and deeply frustrated, Harry finally turned around and headed back for Mrs Tonks' house. He was looking forward to curling up in an armchair in front of the fireplace with a mug of hot chocolate and Teddy in his lap; he'd read him stories or help him build a tower out of the sparkling building blocks his grandmother had given him for Christmas. The thought cheered him up a bit.

 

He left the broom in a corner of the hallway and toed off his boots. He was still fumbling with the zipper of his jacket with half-frozen fingers when the door to the living room opened and Mrs Tonks came out. Harry looked up just in time to see a flash of blond hair before she quickly closed the door behind her.

 

"I heard you come in," she said without preamble, "and I wanted to let you know that we've got visitors."

 

"To warn me, you mean," Harry shot back, "so that I won't raise a stink when I find out that you have Narcissa Malfoy sitting in your living room?"

 

Mrs Tonks stiffened. "Harry," she began in a strangely formal tone, "please listen carefully. You were friends with my daughter, and you are Teddy's godfather; I know that you care for him, and I appreciate that. You will always be a welcome guest in my house, but Cissy is my sister, the only family I have left. If I have to ask someone to leave, it won't be her. Do I make myself clear?"

 

Harry gritted his teeth. "Perfectly." Her message couldn't have been plainer: if he refused to play nice, he would never see Teddy again. For a moment, it was very easy to believe that Andromeda Tonks was Bellatrix Lestrange's sister.

 

She nodded. "Then come in and have a cup of tea with us." Steeling himself, Harry followed her into the living room; he'd have loved nothing better than to storm up the stairs and lock himself into his room, but he wouldn't give Narcissa Malfoy the satisfaction of behaving like a sulking child in her presence.

 

Mrs Malfoy was sitting on the sofa, her back ramrod straight and her face set in a carefully calm expression. She inclined her head when Harry entered. "Mr Potter."

 

Harry nodded back, doing his best to keep his face just as impassive. "Mrs Malfoy." She looked much better than when he'd last seen her, but that was hardly surprising given the circumstances of their previous meeting.

 

"Have a seat, Harry, and some tea, you look half frozen." Mrs Tonks sounded perfectly cheerful, as if she had old enemies gathered around her coffee table every day. Harry sat down in the armchair farthest away from Mrs Malfoy, but didn't reply; he had to play along for Teddy's sake, but that didn't mean he would act as if he liked it.

 

Mrs Malfoy took in his dishevelled appearance and tousled hair with a raised eyebrow. "Have you been out flying? I heard that Andromeda returned your broom to you." Harry merely stared at her for a second – it took some nerve to expect him to engage in small talk with the woman who was at least partly responsible for the death of his godfather. He was well aware that he wouldn't be here if it hadn't been for her, though, so he nodded eventually, even though he couldn't bring himself to answer.

 

"My son tells me you are an extraordinary flyer." Harry wasn't sure what to make of that; he couldn't imagine that Draco had really praised his flying to her. She was sucking up to him for some reason, and it made his temper rise again.

 

"He would know, I beat him at Quidditch whenever we played against each other."

 

Mrs Malfoy's polite tone didn't falter. "That may be, but he was talking about the fact that he is still alive because of your flying skills. I haven't had a chance yet to thank you for saving him; please let me do it now."

 

Harry shrugged, wondering what she was playing at. "You evened the score, as far as I'm concerned."

 

She smiled thinly. "Yes, Draco said so. I can still appreciate what you did, can't I?"

 

Harry leaned forward in his chair. "Speaking of appreciation, why did you never tell anyone that you saved my life? I thought you would shout it from the rooftops that you basically won the war for our side." From the startled look Mrs Tonks gave her sister, it was obvious that she had no idea what Harry was talking about, but Narcissa remained calm.

 

"To be perfectly honest, Mr Potter, I wasn't sure whether you would corroborate such a claim, in which case it would have done my family more harm than good."

 

That gave Harry pause. She had expected him to deny that she had saved him? His astonishment must have shown on his face, because she added, "I apologise if I have offended you, but I suppose you can understand that I needed to be cautious."

 

Harry was about to reply when he heard footsteps. He turned around to see who else was in the house and froze when he saw Draco, with Teddy in his arms, come down the stairs. Draco didn't seem surprised by Harry's presence; he sat down on the sofa next to his mother and gave him a curt nod. "Potter."

 

Harry didn't answer; he was staring at the little boy who was now sitting in Draco's lap. Teddy's hair, which had been jet-black in the morning, had turned white-blond, and Harry couldn't decide whether he felt more betrayed because of the hair colour or because his godson seemed perfectly comfortable with his old school rival.

 

When he finally found his voice again, he said the first thing that came to his mind. "I would never have thought that you are good with children."

 

Draco shrugged. "Neither would I, but he seems to like me."

 

"It's that Levitation trick of yours, Draco, I've told you before," Mrs Tonks pointed out. "I still don't have the nerve to do it, but he loves it."

 

"It's really not that difficult, Aunt Andromeda, see here –" Draco reached for his wand; Harry tensed, but Mrs Tonks gave him a stern look. " _Wingardium Leviosa_!"

 

With a squeal of delight, Teddy gently rose into the air. Draco kept his eyes fixed on him, directing his movements with his wand. "You raise him a few feet, and then – _Finite Incantatem_!" He dropped his wand and caught Teddy as he fell, causing the little boy to squeal even louder.

 

Mrs Malfoy was smiling broadly, and for the first time, her smile seemed genuine. "I still remember how Lucius used to do that with you when you were small. Don't feel bad, Andy, I could never bring myself to try it either."

 

Harry had a hard time connecting the image of a father happily playing with his baby son with the Lucius Malfoy he knew, but at least he got some petty satisfaction from seeing Draco's cheeks flush with embarrassment.

 

"Mother, please do me a favour and spare me the nostalgia."

 

Mrs Tonks clucked her tongue. "You mean I shouldn't break out the baby pictures that your mother sent me?"

 

Draco's horrified expression made up for everything Harry had suffered through in the last half hour. He could barely suppress the glee in his tone when he asked, "You have _baby pictures_ of him, Mrs Tonks?"

 

"Of course," she replied with a wink in Draco's direction. "Narcissa couldn't meet me any longer after I had run away from home, but she still wrote, and after Draco's birth, she sent me pictures of him each year at Christmas so I could see my nephew grow up. Didn't she tell you, Draco?"

 

Draco closed his eyes for a second. "I had no idea. Just stick a dagger into my back and be done with it, Mother, will you?"

 

Narcissa seemed rather amused by his discomfort. "Don't worry, they were very good pictures."

 

"I still have them somewhere," Mrs Tonks added innocently. "Would you like to see them?"

 

Harry couldn't keep silent at this. " _I_ would love to see them, Mrs Tonks."

 

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Over my dead body, Potter."

 

Mrs Tonks shook her head. "Stop teasing him, Harry, he's got relatives for that. Besides, it's Draco you have to thank for getting your broom back; he found it when he was visiting this summer and told me what it was."

 

The glare Draco shot her made it very clear to Harry that Draco had not wanted him to hear about this either. Harry gave him a smirk; if he couldn't avoid Draco Malfoy's company even on Christmas Day, it was good to know that he could at least make him uncomfortable.

 

It still left the question why Draco had salvaged his broom, but Harry decided he was going to wonder about that later.


	15. Chapter 15

"By the way, Andy, Lucius agreed to look into the question you asked me last time."

 

Mrs Malfoy's remark sounded harmless enough, but it wasn't lost on Harry how Mrs Tonks suddenly sat up straighter.

 

"Yes, and?"

 

Narcissa reached towards Teddy, who was dozing off in Draco's lap, and gently ran her hand through his hair that was still way too blond for Harry's taste. "He tells me that so far, he hasn't found a single documented case of inherited lycanthropy. All the books he has consulted agree that the condition can only be transmitted through a werewolf bite; the possibility of passing it on to a child isn't ever mentioned."

 

"That's something." Mrs Tonks' relief was obvious. "It's still possible that there aren't any mentions because it's so rare, of course."

 

"That's true, but I've already told you that I don't think you need to worry. If the condition could be inherited, Teddy would already have begun to show signs of it. Or did you notice any changes around the full moon?" When her sister merely shook her head, Mrs Malfoy continued, "Lucius promised to keep researching the matter. We've lost a good part of our library thanks to the Ministry raids," – Harry gave her a sharp look, but she kept her expression neutral – "but it's still quite extensive, and if there's anything on the subject, I'm sure Lucius will find it. I'll let you know immediately, of course."

 

"Thank you, Cissy." Mrs Tonks hesitated for a moment, but then pressed on. "I imagine your husband isn't particularly happy about this task."

 

Narcissa shrugged. "He didn't say, and I didn't ask him. He knows that my family is important to me, and I'm sure he doesn't want me to worry about the boy."

 

"Excuse me." Harry knew that he should keep his mouth shut, but he just couldn't remain quiet any more. "Would you care to tell me what's going on here? Why on earth would you take an interest in Teddy? He's the son of a half-blood and a werewolf, and Bellatrix already proved how much your kind cares about such relatives!"

 

He realised a second too late how incredibly tactless it had been to point out in front of Mrs Tonks that her sister had killed her daughter. Harry saw Draco give him an incredulous look and felt a blush creep up his cheeks; he didn't dare to meet Mrs Tonks' eyes, so he kept staring defiantly at Narcissa Malfoy, who hadn't even blinked at his words.

 

"As you could have noticed by now, Mr Potter, I am not Bellatrix. Her devotion to the Dark Lord went so far that she cared about no one and nothing but him. I, however, have always placed my family's well-being above every other concern."

 

"Oh, really? Sirius Black was your cousin, wasn't he?" The question came out sounding like a challenge, but Harry was past caring; there was only so much he was able to take even for Teddy's sake.

 

"Yes, he was." For a second, the calm mask Narcissa was wearing slipped a bit. "He had forsaken his family for good, though – not just left it behind like Andy, but decided to stand against it. I owed him no more loyalty than he would have shown me if our positions had been reversed. I still wouldn't have wanted him to get killed, and it seems to me that it wouldn't have happened if it hadn't been for you."

 

"Don't you dare blame _me_ for his death!" It cost Harry some effort to keep himself from yelling at her; his words came out as an angry hiss instead. He was still convinced deep down that Sirius' death _had_ at least partly been his fault, but Narcissa Malfoy was the last person on earth who had the right to talk about it.

 

Her eyebrows rose slightly. "I'm not blaming anyone for anything, Mr Potter, I'm merely trying to answer your question. I'm aware that not every member of my family shared my conviction, but that doesn't change the way I feel about it. Teddy is not only my grand-nephew, he's also the last heir to the Black family. I don't particularly care whether any of our ancestors would turn in their graves if they knew –"

 

"Oh, they definitely would," Mrs Tonks interjected with a grim smile. "If Mother had known in advance, she'd probably have killed me instead of just disinheriting me when I told her I was going to marry Ted."

 

"Not Father, though," Mrs Malfoy said quietly.

 

Mrs Tonks paled slightly. "No, I suppose not."

 

The room went very silent for a moment. Harry had no idea what the exchange had been about, but it had obviously brought back painful memories for both of the sisters. He made a mental note to read up on the question of inherited lycanthropy himself when he was back at Hogwarts – he didn't trust Lucius Malfoy to put any effort into research for the benefit of a child with Teddy's background. Even if Narcissa's concern was genuine (which he doubted), Lucius had probably just told her a pleasant lie to get her out of his hair.

 

He would ask Hermione, and perhaps Luna, to help him; if Snape ever spoke to him again, he might even bring himself to ask him, since Snape was bound to know a lot about werewolves thanks to his history with Remus Lupin.

 

Harry was extremely relieved when Mrs Tonks eventually asked him to take Teddy, who was now fast asleep in Draco's lap, up to his room. She had probably noticed how close Harry was to losing his temper and thought it better to provide him with a way to make his escape without insulting her guests. Not that Harry had any qualms about insulting either of them, but he didn't want to risk getting kicked out of Mrs Tonks' house. Besides, he would have plenty of opportunities to insult Draco if he felt like it once they were back at school.

 

Only when he tucked Teddy's blanket in around the sleeping child did he remember Mrs Malfoy's curious remark about Teddy being the last heir to the Black family. It didn't make sense – not only did she have a son herself, but he was pureblood on top of that, so Harry would have expected her to count on Draco, not Teddy, to keep the family line going. Perhaps she had just meant that Teddy was the youngest Black heir at the moment, until Draco had children of his own. Still, Harry reckoned that it might be worth seeing the reaction of Mrs Black's portrait at Grimmauld Place if she ever heard about this.

 

He stayed in Teddy's room until it was getting close to lunchtime; when he finally came downstairs again, he was glad to see that the Malfoys had already left. He managed to swallow his pride and apologise to Mrs Tonks for snapping at her sister – he wasn't sorry that he'd done it, of course, but he was going to spend most of the Christmas holidays at her house, so it was probably better to get that out of the way.

 

Mrs Tonks seemed a bit surprised by his apology. "It's quite all right, Harry; I know this was difficult for you." She gave him a little smile that had a hint of chagrin to it. "To be honest, I hadn't planned for you to meet them – I had expected you to be out flying all morning once you'd got your broom back. I hadn't considered that it must be much too cold to keep flying for hours... some Slytherin I am, it seems."

 

Despite a bit of lingering indignation, Harry had to grin at this. "Warn me in advance next time, and I promise I'll keep flying until I'm frozen to my broomstick."

 

"I'll keep it in mind." For the second time today, Mrs Tonks placed her hand on his shoulder, and Harry found that he didn't mind at all. "And now come and have lunch."

 

* * *

 

Overall, Harry's Christmas holidays at Mrs Tonks' house were a rather relaxed affair. He spent most of his time with Teddy; when the little boy was asleep, he took his schoolbooks to the armchair in front of the fireplace to study for his NEWTs. The weather was mostly clear, so he went flying a few more times; even if it wasn't the same as it had once been (and Harry began to doubt that he'd ever enjoy flying the way he'd done before the war), it was still nice to be out in the open for a while.

 

Yet as the new year approached, he was beginning to get a little bored. He had already told Mrs Tonks that he would go back to school a few days before the end of the holidays, because there was only so much studying he could get done without the library at his disposal, and he was honestly looking forward to it. He missed Ron and Hermione, and sometimes, when he had trouble falling asleep at night, he couldn't wait to have Luna curled up against him in bed again.

 

Harry considered it a good sign that he could now face the prospect of returning to Hogwarts with anticipation instead of the dread he'd felt before the beginning of the school year. Still, he knew that the battle against the shadows of the past was far from over. During the peaceful days of Christmas, his thoughts had more than once strayed back to the scene he'd seen in the Pensieve and to Dumbledore's attempt at explaining what had happened. The knowledge that his parents had wanted him to live felt like a warm, protective blanket that he wore wrapped around him at all times; it kept him safe from the nightmares and the paralysing fear they brought with them. Yet he found himself thinking of Dumbledore more and more often; the conversation with his dead mentor in McGonagall's office kept replaying itself in his mind, and it led to questions that Harry had tried not to ask himself ever since the day of the final battle.

 

Everything Dumbledore had told him in that strange, dreamlike place that had looked like King's Cross Station had made perfect sense back then. Now Harry felt it slowly come apart in his mind like a piece of cloth that was beginning to fray at the edges, the threads of wisdom and care unravelling and reforming into shapes he didn't want to contemplate. His thoughts took him back to all the talks he'd had with Dumbledore over the years, from the first time he'd been to the Headmaster's office to the last words he'd spoken to him during the night he'd been killed; he remembered the twinkling blue eyes that he had, over time, found comforting, annoying, or utterly infuriating, and wished that he'd had the presence of mind to ask the right questions while there still had been a chance to get them answered by the man himself, not just by the shadow of his life that was everything a portrait could ever capture.

 

There was a small part of him, however, that kept wondering whether Dumbledore would have given him an honest answer even if Harry had ever managed to ask those questions.

 

* * *

 

"How was the babysitting holiday?"

 

Harry, who was sitting cross-legged on his bed with _Homini Lupus – Werewolves, Lycanthropes, and Other Dark Creatures to Avoid During the Full Moon_ balanced on his knees, looked up from the huge tome in surprise.

 

"Ron! I thought you wouldn't be back before tomorrow evening!"

 

Ron dropped his travelling bag on his bed and sat down next to it. "Hermione will, because her parents are taking her to London the Muggle way, but I decided I'd drop by at the Burrow to say hello and get my presents since Mum didn't want to send owls to the Grangers. They all send their greetings, by the way."

 

"Thanks," Harry murmured, avoiding Ron's gaze. "How did it go with Hermione's parents?"

 

Ron shrugged. "Well enough, I suppose. They were very nice to me, but I think they're still angry with Hermione. It was a bit awkward sometimes, but it was okay overall. They gave me a bit of Muggle stuff for Dad, it will keep him happy for weeks."

 

Harry grinned. "I still have a hard time imagining you living in a Muggle house."

 

Ron made a face. "It was strange, I'm telling you. The things you have to put up with when you can't do magic – although that telly thing of theirs is rather entertaining. Still, it was a relief when I was back at the Burrow today and could use my wand again. Oh, before I forget, I brought you your Christmas present."

 

Harry watched, completely stunned, as Ron began to rummage through his bag. "I'm sure I had it somewhere in here – Mum says she's sorry that it's late, but she didn't get it finished until Christmas Day, and she didn't think the owl would make it to Mrs Tonks' house in time... here it is!"

 

Ron triumphantly pulled a large, soft parcel out of his bag and handed it to Harry. "Belated happy Christmas, mate."

 

Harry put the book aside and took the parcel from him, but didn't answer; he found that he suddenly had a lump in his throat that made it impossible to speak. He only noticed how his fingers trembled when it took him three attempts until he was able to rip the wrapping paper. A curious feeling of warmth spread in his chest at the familiar sight of an emerald green Weasley jumper with a large blue "H" on the front; it felt a bit like coming home after a long, exhausting journey.

 

He coughed a few times until he was sure that his voice would be firm again. "I – thanks, Ron. I mean, really, this – it means a lot to me."

 

Ron made a dismissive gesture. "You haven't even opened it properly yet."

 

There was something in his tone that gave Harry pause, but Ron's gaze gave nothing away when he shot him a curious look. With a shrug, he pulled the jumper out of the torn wrapping; only now did he notice there was something made of blue wool underneath. Frowning, Harry put the jumper aside and reached for the second item; had Molly made him two jumpers this year?

 

When he took it out and unfolded it, he realised that it was indeed another, bright blue jumper. It was slightly smaller than the first one and had an emerald green "L" on the front.

 

Harry had to turn his head away; he didn't want Ron to see the tears he felt burning in his eyes. The lump in his throat was back with a vengeance, but so was the warm, bubbling feeling of happiness in his chest. He was used to fate granting him only a small share of what he'd been hoping for; he didn't know how to deal with suddenly getting more than he'd ever have dared to wish for.

 

It took a long time and a lot of furious blinking until he felt ready to face Ron again. Ron seemed remarkably unembarrassed by Harry's reaction; he was grinning.

 

"Do you finally get it now that you don't have to marry Ginny to be a part of the family, you great git?"

 

Harry nodded mutely, his hands clenched around Luna's jumper as if he needed to make sure that it wouldn't dissolve into thin air.

 

Ron pointed at the jumper. "When's she coming back, by the way?"

 

"Next Sunday." Harry's voice was still a bit wobbly, but it had stopped bothering him. "I'm sure she'll love it."

 

Ron's grin widened. "It should go nicely with that crazy necklace you gave her for Christmas. I don't even dare to ask what she gave _you_."

 

At this, Harry finally had to grin too; he'd given Luna her Christmas present before she had left for Sweden, and she had been enthusiastic about the necklace made from gilded Muggle paperclips. The jeweller at Diagon Alley whom Harry had firecalled to order it had given him a _very_ strange look, but Luna's face when she unwrapped her present had been worth it.

 

"If you must know, she gave me a Fwooper quill. I only hope she doesn't expect me to use it in public."

 

Ron almost choked with laughter. "A Fwooper quill? That's more than just a little bit poofy, mate. Is she trying to tell you something?"

 

Harry threw his pillow at him. "Shut it, or I'll start asking whether Hermione is finally done with reading up on the theory."

 

Ron caught the pillow and flung it back, his expression smug. "Ask all you want, if you must."

 

Harry felt his eyes go wide. "At her parents' house? Have you no shame at all, Ron Weasley?"

 

"Says the bloke who spends half his nights in the Head Girl's room. And it was _her_ idea, if you absolutely need to know." Ron was still grinning, although his cheeks had turned an interesting shade of scarlet.

 

It was strange, Harry thought, to realise that this revelation would have bothered him a lot a few months ago. Now he felt mostly amused by the mental image of Ron sneaking into Hermione's bedroom at the Grangers' house. He dug his fingers into Luna's jumper again and found himself looking forward to the moment when it would smell of peppermint and patchouli like the rest of her clothes.

 

"Speaking of the Grangers' house, there was something I wanted to tell you." Despite his smugness, Ron seemed eager to change the topic. "Your cousin called while I was there. You know, on the telephone." He looked quite proud at pulling off the pronunciation, but Harry barely noticed it.

 

"Dudley? Why on earth would he call Hermione's parents? How did he even get their number?"

 

Ron gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Search me. Perhaps he heard from his guards that her parents were Muggles? While he was in hiding last year, I mean."

 

"What did he want?"

 

"To know how you were, basically." Ron noticed Harry's doubtful expression and added, "That's what he said, anyway. He heard from his guards that we won the war and that you survived it, but then they sent him and his parents back home, it seems. He said he didn't have your address or anything, otherwise he would have written you."

 

"A Christmas card, I suppose?" Harry grimaced at the thought. "I think Duddydums needs to look up the meaning of 'too little, too late'."

 

"That's what I said too, but Hermione went all teary-eyed and said that she hopes you'll write him a letter."

 

Harry snorted, remembering years filled with taunts, punches, broken toys, stolen food, and constant threats of telling and getting him punished. Trust Dudley to think that one awkward handshake would make up for all that. "When hell freezes over."

 

Ron nodded, his expression grim. "Good for you, mate. After..." He fell silent, and Harry noticed how Ron's eyes suddenly weren't focused on him anymore; he was staring past Harry at the broomstick in the corner. "Is that your _Firebolt_ over there? I thought you'd lost it!"

 

"Brilliant, isn't it?" Harry did some quick thinking; Ron probably didn't need to know how exactly the broom had been returned to him. "Turns out I lost it not far from Mrs Tonks' house, and she had it repaired for me. I already tried it, it's as good as new."

 

"Brilliant indeed." Ron shot the Firebolt a longing look, and Harry suddenly had an idea.

 

"You can use it for Quidditch, if you want; it's not as if I still need it for training."

 

Ron's mouth fell open. "You'll lend me your Firebolt? Are you serious?"

 

"Course I am," Harry answered nonchalantly, although he was strangely touched by the way Ron's face lit up. If the Firebolt could no longer bring him the same amount of happiness it once had, it was good to know that it would at least make Ron happy instead. "You've got a Quidditch cup to win for Gryffindor, after all."


	16. Chapter 16

It was strange that the corridors of Hogwarts should seem so much more familiar at night.

 

During the hours of the day, while everybody went about their business as if the war hadn't happened, Harry still couldn't shake off the feeling that he was living in a world that was desperately pretending to be a perfect replica of the one where he'd spent his late childhood and early teenage years, before the flagstones of the Great Hall had been slippery with blood and the air thick with the acrid, metallic tang of Dark Magic.

 

He would have loved to lose himself in the illusion to the point where he was beginning to find it convincing, but even after all those months, it didn't work. The harder he tried, the clearer it became that there would be no going back to the way life had once been, regardless of how much he busied himself with homework and studying. No matter how soothing the old routines might appear, the knowledge that he was impersonating a boy he'd left behind a long time ago was always at the back of his mind, tainting every second of his days with the faint, but ever-present feeling of falseness. There were just a few safe spaces where pretence fell away so that he could be nothing but himself, neither schoolboy nor saviour, no longer a child and not yet a grown man.

 

The most precious among them was Luna's little room, where she would welcome him with her dreamy smile and her gentle, friendly hands; there was no need to hide anything from her, because Luna accepted him with the unquestioning belief in the world around her that set her apart from everyone else Harry had ever known. She was good at listening and even better at interpreting his silence, and no matter how little sense the things she said made sometimes, she still managed to make him feel as if she understood him better than he understood himself.

 

Another, ironically, was Snape's classroom, where Harry had to play the strange part of student and teacher in one, which seemed fitting for someone who was still trying to find his bearings between a youth that had been cut short and a maturity that had been forced upon him before he had been ready for it. It was jarring and oddly refreshing at the same time to put up with Snape's sneering disdain which was so different from the careful politeness of the other teachers, who seemed just as unsure about what to make of Harry as he was himself.

 

Harry sometimes wondered whether they would look the other way if they saw him wander through the school at night. He'd begun his nightly walks after the Christmas holidays, when he had first noticed how much easier it was to think clearly while he was strolling along the silent, empty corridors that he knew so well thanks to many years of invisible forays into the forbidden darkness. He never took the chance, though; he always remained hidden under his father's Cloak that was no less useful because of the strange legacy it was burdened with. At first, he'd only taken short detours on the way from his room to Luna's, but soon the walks became a regular habit, even during nights he had to spend in his own bed because Luna was presiding over ~~~~Prefect meetings or working late in the library.

 

No matter how much the school had changed, this part of it felt oddly constant, as if time didn't pass the same way in the nightly corridors. Harry listened to the sound of his own soft footfalls while he made his way from one circle of flickering torchlight to the next without caring where his steps would take him, and finally dared to give his thoughts free rein. He didn't know why it felt safer to let his mind wander out here in the corridors, but he was still glad of the respite the chilly darkness offered him. He was frozen to the bone and tired enough to collapse on the spot by the time he returned to his bed, but he never dreamed during those nights, and he soon made a habit ~~~~of putting everything that would be disturbing or painful to think about away in a secluded corner of his mind until he could ponder it safely during another solitary, silent walk in the dead of night.

 

* * *

 

A thin layer of frozen snow crunched under Harry's shoes while he walked along the path that led away from the steps of the main entrance and down to the lake. It was a beautiful night, clear and bitterly cold; the school grounds were bathed in the silvery light of a moon that was almost full, and the trees were glittering with frost.

 

Harry had no idea where he was going; he had just found himself in front of the main entrance during another nightly walk and had decided to step outside. The bite of the cold air made him wish that he'd brought something warmer than his Invisibility Cloak, but he didn't want to go back now, so he cast a Warming Charm to protect himself against the worst of the chill and kept on walking with no specific destination in mind.

 

It was only when he saw the shimmer of something white in the distance that he realised he was headed for Dumbledore's tomb. His steps faltered, and he felt a surge of something akin to panic rise in his chest. He hadn't been there since he'd returned the Elder Wand to the place where it belonged, and he would never be able to look at the tomb again without seeing Dumbledore's still form inside, his empty hands twisted because Voldemort had forced them open when he'd desecrated the tomb to steal what he had considered the key to his victory.

 

For a second, Harry was tempted to turn around and go back the way he had come, but then he squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and walked on. Perhaps it was for the best that he had ended up here tonight; he had been running from Dumbledore's memory for months, but he had always known that he couldn't escape it forever. The grave might be a good place to start facing it at last.

 

There was a small group ~~~~of trees behind the white tomb by the border of the lake; it was little more than a shapeless black silhouette, but it formed a sinister backdrop to the gleaming stone of Dumbledore's tomb that stood out like a beacon in the darkness. As Harry came closer, he realised with a mixture of alarm and dismay that there was someone standing beside the tomb, a narrow figure in a dark cloak that would have blended in with the shadowy outline of the trees if it hadn't been for the pale hair that reflected the moonlight almost as brightly as the white marble.

 

Harry gritted his teeth; his hands clenched into fists seemingly on their own accord. Of all the people at Hogwarts, no one had less of a right to disturb Dumbledore's rest than Draco Malfoy. Perhaps he even knew it himself; why else would he have come here under the cover of darkness?

 

Harry hadn't tried to walk soundlessly, but Draco obviously hadn't heard him. He was leaning against the tomb, his arms crossed over his chest and his head bowed, seemingly deep in thought. Harry wondered briefly whether he was thinking about the fateful night on top of the Astronomy Tower, when he had set out to commit murder and found that he didn't have the guts to do it. Had it dawned on him then that he'd chosen the wrong side, or had it taken a direct encounter with Voldemort's wrath for him to finally understand the difference between bragging about the Dark Lord's return and facing the reality of it?

 

He remembered Draco's pale, terrified face as he had stood before Dumbledore and felt some of his anger ebb away. Perhaps the git had finally begun to see some things differently if he felt the need to pay nightly visits to Dumbledore's grave. Harry had a hard time believing it, but then, he wouldn't have believed that Narcissa Malfoy would save his life either before it had happened.

 

Draco spoke up suddenly without raising his head, startling Harry badly. "Since you haven't attacked me yet, I suppose you're Potter under that Cloak of yours. Stop trying to hide and tell me what you're doing here."

 

"What _I_ am doing here?" Harry belatedly remembered to take off the Cloak; there really was no point in being a disembodied voice, now that Draco knew he was here. "It seems to me I should be asking you that question."

 

Draco shrugged; he was looking at Harry now, his face clearly visible in the light of the moon. "It's a good place to think."

 

"About the night you failed to kill him?" Harry hadn't meant to bring it up first thing, but the opening had been too tempting.

 

Draco gave him a sharp look. "What would you know…" He fell silent, as if something had occurred to him; from the way his eyes widened, it was a rather disturbing realisation. "That second broom, and you've got the Cloak – you were there, weren't you?"

 

Harry nodded; he probably wouldn't have told him, but he saw no point in denying it now. "He made sure that I couldn't interfere, but I saw everything. Thanks, by the way."

 

Draco stared at him as if he'd grown a second head. "What for?"

 

"For bringing back my broom. It's not going to work, you know."

 

He had hoped that the apparent non-sequiturs would throw Draco off balance, but they seemed to have the opposite effect on him, because he sounded much more composed when he replied coolly, "Potter, you're not making sense. What's not going to work?"

 

"You won't manage to guilt me into giving back your wand."

 

Draco scoffed at this. "As if Saint Potter were even able to feel guilty about anything."

 

Harry reminded himself that he was likely just trying to get a rise out of him, but his stomach clenched unpleasantly nevertheless. "Then why did you do it?"

 

Draco shrugged again. "Would you rather if I hadn't?" It took Harry a moment to remember that these had been his own words during another conversation a few months ago, when Draco had asked him why he'd saved his life. He took it as a sign that he wasn't going to get an answer to his question now either.

 

"But if you were there that night…" Draco paused, as if he were carefully weighing his words. "I just can't figure out what he was playing at. He offered me help while I had him at wandpoint, but he didn't lift a finger during all the time before, when he knew I was trying to kill him and – "

 

"– and almost killed two of your schoolmates in the process?" Harry threw in; he wasn't going to let him forget that.

 

Even in the pale moonlight, it was impossible to miss how Draco tensed. "Well, yes. But that's what I don't understand – why didn't he stop me, especially ~~~~when his precious Gryffindors were getting caught in the crossfire? I thought they were all he ever cared about!"

 

"So did they, I suppose," Harry murmured.

 

Draco turned his head, casting his features into deep shadow. He suddenly seemed very alert, like a hunting dog that had ~~~~sniffed the scent of its prey.

 

"Snape said he sent you out to be killed."

 

Harry froze. " _What_?"

 

Draco took a step closer, and it was all Harry could do not to back away. "That evening before Christmas when you didn't show up? I'd never seen Snape so angry – he kept talking about something Dumbledore had done, but he wouldn't explain it to me. He did say, though, that Dumbledore had ordered you to let the Dark Lord kill you. Is that true?"

 

For a split second, Harry considered turning around and leaving without a word. He couldn't get his feet to move, though; he seemed rooted to the spot, and it felt strange to realise that a part of him _wanted_ to answer the question, as if someone who had been his enemy all his life might be able to make sense of everything that had happened when neither he nor those who loved him had managed to find an explanation he could live with.

 

He took a deep breath, steeling himself. "It's true, yes."

 

There was a brief silence, as if Draco weren't sure what to say to that. When he finally spoke again, he sounded incredulous. "And you _obeyed_ him?"

 

Harry closed his eyes and concentrated on keeping his breathing even. The moment he had understood Dumbledore's last message to him stood out sharply in his memory – the strangely numb feeling that went beyond shock or fear, leaving him with the merciless certainty that there was no way out.

 

He was surprised himself by the steadiness of his voice when he finally answered. "I didn't have much of a choice, I was dead anyway."

 

"I've heard rumours," Draco began slowly, "that you and the Dark Lord shared a connection and that it was your destiny to kill him by sacrificing your own life."

 

Harry did his best to give a convincing snort. "Says who, Rita Skeeter?"

 

"Among others." He still couldn't see Draco's face, but there was a humourless chuckle in his voice when he continued, indicating that he was smiling faintly. "Can you blame them? It looked for all the world as if you had died and then come back from the dead to rid the world of him. It's not difficult to see destiny written all over that, I suppose."

 

"And what do _you_ think?" Harry was honestly curious about the answer; so far Draco hadn't given away anything about his own opinion on the matter.

 

"I think that I recognise a fairy tale when I hear it, Potter. Besides, you already admitted that you weren't dead, so the messiah bit is out too. It's obvious that there was a connection between you and the Dark Lord, though, and from what you're saying, Dumbledore was trying to make use of it."

 

"Something like that, yes." It was Harry's turn to pause and think carefully about his next words. "He told me that Voldemort's fear of death was his weakness – that you became ~~~~master of death by accepting that you had to die, and that it gave you ~~~~a power Voldemort knew nothing about…"

 

Draco's reply sounded strangely forced, as if it cost him effort to speak. "It seems to me that we all master death eventually, one way or the other. I never realised that Dumbledore too was so obsessed with the idea."

 

"He – " Harry faltered, then tried again. "He said that there were far worse things than death that could happen to you."

 

Draco's sharp intake of breath seemed overly loud in the frosty silence of the winter night. "So he _really_ asked you to let yourself be killed in order to kill the Dark Lord?" There was such clear revulsion in his tone that it immediately made Harry defensive. Ron was allowed to use that tone when speaking about Dumbledore, and perhaps Luna too, but never, ever Draco Malfoy.

 

"It looked like it at the time – it was necessary that I did it out of my own free will, or it wouldn't have worked. But I came out alive in the end."

 

"And you're convinced that he knew that in advance? That you would survive, I mean?"

 

Harry felt as if his insides were turning to ice; this was the question he had been careful not to ask himself ever since he'd begun to think about the matter. Dumbledore had sounded certain enough during their talk at "King's Cross Station", and Harry had readily believed him back then, but many things had begun to look different in retrospective. He could, of course, walk up to Dumbledore's portrait and ask him outright, but he wasn't sure that he wanted to hear the answer.

 

At long last, the only reply to Draco's question he could think of was, "I don't know."

 

Draco shook his head. "With allies like him, most people wouldn't need enemies any more."

 

Harry found it strangely reassuring that he wasn't ready to let such a slight against Dumbledore pass – whatever issues he had with his late mentor's memory, he certainly wasn't going to let Draco badmouth him. "I don't see what you're complaining about, it seems to me that Dumbledore chose the Slytherin approach for once."

 

"Shows what you know." It was almost funny, Harry thought fleetingly, how you could _hear_ a sneer even when you didn't see the speaker's face clearly. "When has any of your lot ever understood Slytherin? Slytherin's loyalty is to our own – you Gryffindors are all about the greater good, and you obviously don't bat an eyelash at the idea of throwing one of yours to the wolves if it serves your purposes."

 

_Slytherin's loyalty is to our own_. Harry couldn't help remembering Narcissa Malfoy's voice, telling Voldemort that he was dead while she still had her hand on his chest right over his beating heart; then, unexpectedly, he recalled Pansy Parkinson's demand to sacrifice him to save the others. He'd considered it cowardly and selfish at the time, and it probably had been – but it made him wonder how it might be to know that you belonged with someone who would always put you first, no matter what happened and what else might be at stake.

 

What had Snape said about his mother? " _She'd have let the whole world go down in flames before she'd have allowed anyone to harm her son_ "? Perhaps –

 

His musings were interrupted by a low, drawn-out sound that seemed to come right out of the darkness, a mixture between a raspy laugh and the growl of an animal. Draco whirled around so that the moonlight was right on his face again, his eyes wide with terror. His wand was in his hand before Harry knew what was happening, and without thinking Harry reached for his own, pointing it in the general direction from which the sound had come.

 

He saw a dark shape emerge from the trees behind Dumbledore's tomb, slowly and unhurriedly like a predator on the prowl, and he felt bile rise like acid in his throat when the deep, hoarse voice spoke up.

 

"Funny that you still dare to speak of wolves, little Malfoy."


	17. Chapter 17

Fenrir Greyback had never looked less human. Matted hair hung down to his shoulders, his face was covered by something that was more tangled fur than beard; his wide grin showed off long, pointed canines that gleamed in the moonlight, and Harry couldn't shake the impression that his eyes were glowing. He walked with a stoop, as if he were ready to drop on all fours any second, but he still moved swiftly and soundlessly like the hunting beast he was.

 

Harry's heartbeat was so loud in his own ears that he barely understood what Greyback was growling as he approached. "Think I'm afraid of two cubs and their sticks? My kind is very hard to kill, little Malfoy, and we have our own score to settle once I'm done with your friend here."

 

The burning eyes were fixed on Harry now. Harry tried to aim properly, but his hand was shaking, and his brain seemed to have frozen; he couldn't think of a single spell that would be powerful enough to ward off the werewolf stalking towards him.

 

Greyback's grin widened; he was licking his lips. "Look, he's trembling just like you are – I'd have expected better from the Dark Lord's killer, but I suppose he knows the last thing he'll ever feel are my teeth ripping out his throat."

 

A tensing of Greyback's shoulders was all the warning Harry got; before he could react, the werewolf had covered the distance between them with a single leap. He shoved Draco to the side and barrelled right into Harry, knocking him off his feet and sending his wand flying. Harry struggled with all his might, but Greyback's weight pinned him down easily on the frozen ground. The stink of dirt and sweat and old blood almost made him gag, the pressure of a clawed hand around his neck took his breath away, and all he could see were the yellow, pointed teeth flashing inches away from his throat and closing in.

 

Then he heard Draco's voice yell, " _Sectumsempra_!"

 

Greyback let out a furious howl and released Harry's neck as blood spurted from a slash across his face as if he'd been hit with an invisible whip. Suddenly the crushing weight on Harry's chest was gone, and it was possible to breathe again. Harry pushed himself up on his elbows, coughing and retching, and saw Greyback sprint towards Draco. Draco cast the curse a second time and hit Greyback fully in the chest, but he merely snarled and threw himself at Draco. They both went down in a tangle of flaying limbs, and it was a matter of seconds until Draco was held down by the werewolf's bulk just as Harry had been. Harry heard a strangled scream and saw Greyback raise his hand, claws glinting in the moonlight –

 

There was his wand, a thin dark line on the snow-dusted grass, not three feet away from him, just out of his reach. Harry felt a strange, detached calmness settle over him; fear and excitement were gone completely, replaced by a cold, focussed determination. Time seemed to slow down to a trickle as he held out his hand. There was no question whether he would be able to will his wand towards him – he had need of it, that was all there was to it. He didn't say the spell, didn't even consciously think it, but the wand was in his hand before Greyback's claws had even begun their descent towards Draco's face.

 

There was no apprehension, no doubt or hesitation. This creature had dared to stand in his way, and he wasn't going to allow that. He didn't stop to think whether he possessed the power to kill it – he knew that he did, he had done it many times before. The fingers closing around his wand looked wrong; they should be longer, thinner, and much paler, but it was no matter. He could feel the power surging through him, cold and deadly; power that was alien and yet incredibly familiar, like a long-forgotten part of himself he had finally remembered. He raised his wand in an almost lazy movement, focussing on the snarling, stinking abomination before him, and let the power reach out towards it to snuff out its pitiful existence. He felt his lips move, but he never heard the words he'd spoken; there was a flash of blinding green light, and Greyback was thrown off his victim, against the white marble of the tomb, where he crumpled up in a heap and lay still.

 

Harry fell back onto the grass, out of breath as if he'd been running. His whole body was tingling with the aftermath of something he had no name for; there were no sounds but the roar of blood in his ears and the thundering beat of his heart. He felt an ache deep in his chest that spread downwards while little pinpricks of light danced in his vision like stars in the black sky above.

 

He felt a touch on his shoulder and lashed out blindly, the heady memory of the power rushing through him returning full force. He knew there was nobody who could stand against him – he had known for so long, how could he have forgotten? There was a yelp as whoever had dared to approach him toppled over and landed sprawling on top of him. Harry saw a flash of blond hair, but he didn't care, he was swept up in the sensation of a taut body pressed against him, hot breath against his cheek and a warm, sticky liquid dripping on his face. He licked his lips and tasted the metallic tang of blood, and his back arched up against the weight that held him down. There was a strangled gasp, and the pressure doubled for just one incredible moment as Harry felt hips grinding into his.

 

That was when he became aware that he was lying on the frozen ground with Draco Malfoy on top of him, and that he was achingly hard and a second away from coming in his pants if Draco kept rutting against him like this –

 

Draco must have realised it at the same moment, because he jerked away as if he'd been burned. He hastily scrambled to his feet, his face white in the moonlight, and Harry noticed the deep gash across his left cheek that was bleeding freely. It took him longer to get up from the ground; his muscles seemed unwilling to obey him, and his legs felt like lead when he was finally standing. Draco, still breathing heavily, was staring at him with wide eyes, and the sudden tension between them was almost tangible.

 

"That's going to scar." Harry had no idea why he'd said it; it was the first thing that had come to his mind.

 

Draco's hand twitched as if he'd wanted to touch his bleeding cheek and had thought better of it. "Then it'll match the one on my chest, I suppose."

 

The image of a puddle of blood and water on the cracked tiles of Myrtle's bathroom stood out sharply in Harry's mind, but for some reason, the feeling of horror that used to accompany it never came.

 

"You saved my life." _With a spell I almost killed you with, no less_.

 

Draco shrugged. "The spell didn't work properly." He didn't point out that it had probably been due to the fact that he hadn't used his own wand. "I'd be dead if you hadn't killed him."

 

Harry's eyes were drawn to the dark heap next to Dumbledore's tomb. Draco was right, he had killed him, and he still couldn't believe how easy it had been. Was that why they didn't teach you how to cast _Avada Kedavra_ – because you might notice how little it took to snuff out a life like a candle flame? He'd heard that werewolves were particularly hard to kill, but there had been no resistance, no barrier to overcome – you pointed your wand and wanted them dead, that was all there was to it.

 

He only noticed that he was shivering in the cold night air when Draco grabbed him roughly by the shoulder. "Don't faint on me, Potter, we need to wake McGonagall and tell her about this."

 

Harry nodded glumly. He trailed after Draco like an obedient child on their way back to the castle; his head was spinning, and he had trouble staying on his feet. He still noticed how Draco was beginning to tremble all over as they approached the castle, as if he were only now realising how narrow their escape had been. Right before they reached the main gate, he took a few hasty steps away from the path, and Harry heard him retch behind the bushes.

 

He didn't say a word when he reappeared after a couple of minutes, merely walked up the stairs to the gate, and Harry followed him in silence.

 

* * *

 

McGonagall was already in her office when they entered – perhaps the gargoyle had a way of alerting her when a visitor was on the way. She was wrapped in a tartan dressing-gown and seemed a bit dishevelled as if she'd just woken up, which she likely had since the clock on the wall showed that it was past midnight.

 

Her eyes widened when she took in their appearance. "Potter, Malfoy, what in Merlin's name happened to you?"

 

"We ran into Fenrir Greyback." Draco's voice was a little raspy, but surprisingly firm given that he was white as a sheet and his face was a bloody mess. "Down by the lake."

 

McGonagall paled visibly. "Did you get bitten? Your cheek –"

 

Draco shook his head. "He merely scratched me."

 

"And you, Mr Potter?"

 

It took Harry a moment to remember that he must have Draco's blood smeared over half his face. "I'm not hurt at all, Professor."

 

"That's something." McGonagall clapped her hands, and a house-elf appeared with a crack in the middle of the room. "Fetch Madam Pomfrey," she ordered before the little creature could get a word in. "Then wake all the teachers and tell them to meet me in the staff room in ten minutes. We must secure the grounds, there's a werewolf on the loose outside –"

 

"Wait!" Harry interrupted her before she could continue. "There's no need. I killed him."

 

This announcement was followed by deepest silence. The elf stared at Harry with huge, round eyes; even McGonagall seemed momentarily speechless. She pulled herself together quickly, though.

 

"Then just get Madam Pomfrey, and tell her to hurry. Off you go!"

 

When the elf had vanished, she turned to Harry. "I'm not going to ask you right now what you were doing outside the castle at night. Are you really certain that Greyback is dead? Did you check? He was already left for dead once, you know that."

 

"He's dead." Harry couldn't have said why he was so certain. "I didn't check, but I'm sure."

 

The Headmistress seemed doubtful. "It's difficult to –"

 

"Potter hit him with a Killing Curse." Harry was torn between the wish to strangle Draco and relief that he didn't have to tell McGonagall himself. "He's dead, Professor, there can be no doubt about it. If you want to check, you'll find him next to – to Professor Dumbledore's tomb."

 

The look McGonagall gave him wasn't lost on Harry. There it was again, that expression as if she were faced with a bomb that had begun to tick. She seemed about to say something, but got distracted by Madam Pomfrey, who climbed out of the fireplace and immediately began fussing over Draco. For once, Draco didn't seem happy about the attention, and he put up quite a fight when the Headmistress ordered him to spend the night in the Hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey would have none of it, though; after giving Harry a quick once-over to make sure there was nothing wrong with him, she swept out with a protesting Draco in tow.

 

Harry watched him leave; it had been hard to miss how Draco had steadfastly refused to meet his gaze ever since they'd entered the castle. Only when McGonagall coughed pointedly did he focus his attention on the Headmistress again. "Can I go now, Professor?"

 

"In a moment." She waved her wand, and Harry felt his cheeks prickle; she'd probably had enough of seeing the blood on his face. "Listen, I think it would be better if it didn't become public knowledge that you used the Killing Curse against Greyback."

 

Harry stared at her. "I was defending myself, Professor – and Malfoy, too! Greyback was about to rip him apart when I took him down!"

 

"I don't doubt that, Potter, and I don't blame you in the slightest." McGonagall looked very tired, but somehow Harry doubted that it had to do with the lateness of the hour. "Did you use any other spells against him?"

 

Harry shook his head. "I didn't, there was no time. Malfoy used – something like a Slashing Hex, but it wasn't enough to stop him."

 

"A Slashing Hex?" The Headmistress seemed to think furiously. "So there would be visible signs of that on his corpse?"

 

"Yes, definitely, his face was covered in blood." Harry had no idea where this was going, but he got the impression that McGonagall was relieved to hear his answer.

 

"Then I suggest we inform the Ministry that it was Mr Malfoy's hex that killed him. I don't like lying to them any more than you do, but believe me, you don't need that kind of attention right now."

 

Harry wasn't sure what she meant by that, but he really didn't feel the need to see his name in the headlines again. "Fine by me, Professor. You'd better tell Malfoy too, although I don't think he'll have any objections."

 

McGonagall smiled thinly. "No, I don't think so either, Mr Potter." To Harry's surprise, she placed a hand on his shoulder for a moment when she added in a much gentler tone, "And now go to bed and try to get some sleep, everything else can wait until tomorrow."

 

* * *

 

In spite of McGonagall's advice, Harry felt wide awake once he found himself outside her office. His whole body was still vibrating with the aftermath of the strange experience at Dumbledore's tomb, as if the remains of the power he'd discovered deep within himself hadn't quite settled down yet. He quickly dismissed the idea of returning to his own bed; there was no way he'd be able to sleep now. He decided to go and see whether Luna was still awake, she often studied into the wee hours of the morning.

 

He began walking faster as he approached the Ravenclaw tower; by the time he reached Luna's door, his heart was racing, and he was uncomfortably hot in spite of the chill in the dark corridors. He could feel _something_ coursing through his veins, a heady, ravenous sensation that made him ache with a need he had no name for. He saw no light under Luna's door, but he hardly noticed it. He knocked once, a brief, hard rap, then reached for the door knob that turned under his hand before he'd even touched it.

 

Luna was in bed with a book on her pillow, reading by the faint glow of a single candle. She sat up and put the book aside as he entered, but she frowned slightly when she looked at him.

 

"Harry, is something wr- _hmph_!"

 

She didn't get any further because Harry was next to her on the bed, grabbed her by the upper arms and kissed her. It was unlike any other kiss they'd shared before; those had been warm and gentle and playful, but this was different, a frantic, almost brutal attempt to soothe the burning ache within him. It wasn't nearly enough, though; something at the back of his mind was howling for more, and he pushed her back onto the bed and pulled the nightgown over her head before he was even aware of what he was doing.

 

Luna seemed surprised, but she didn't struggle; she even helped him when he fumbled with the fly of his jeans, desperate to get all this clothing out of the way, to feel her, take her, and satisfy the almost painful desire for something he'd never known before. Luna made a small, strangled sound when he pushed into her, but Harry barely heard her. His brain was swimming in a dull, red haze that left nothing but need and want and hunger, and he was only dimly aware of Luna moving with him, meeting his thrusts.

 

This wasn't the sweet, somewhat awkward lovemaking Harry was used to; it was harsh and fast and furious, but it was still not enough, the ache within him wouldn't subside, no matter how deep he buried himself inside her. He'd barely made a sound during their previous encounters, but now the noise of his own panting and groaning filled his ears, interspersed with Luna's breathless gasps. He felt her arch up under him and struggled against the wave of heat that was building inside him, threatening to drag him under; the hunger was still there, and he still didn't know what he was aching for, but he couldn't hold back any longer as the rush of sensation overtook him, blanking out every conscious thought and pulling him forward into the darkness.

 

* * *

 

The room was bathed in the grey light of early morning when Harry woke with a pounding headache and a queasy feeling in his stomach. He sat up gingerly, wincing as the throbbing inside his skull intensified, and blinked at the realisation that he was in Luna's bed since he had no recollection of how he'd got there.

 

"Good morning," Luna's voice spoke up next to him, and Harry turned around in surprise; it was rare for her to wake up so early.

 

Luna was propped up on her elbow and gave him a look he couldn't interpret. She was as naked as he was, and Harry did a double-take at the sight of five finger-shaped bruises on each of her upper arms and several purple marks on her breasts and neck that looked as if they had been made by teeth. He stared at them in shock as memories of the past night began flooding back into his mind – Greyback, and the Killing Curse he'd cast, and –

 

"You know," Luna interrupted his thoughts with a small frown, "that was quite interesting."

 

Harry gingerly reached for her arm to touch the marks his fingers had left there, half expecting her to flinch away. "Did I – I hurt you, didn't I?"

 

Luna shrugged. "A little, but that's all right. We can try it a bit rougher from now on if that's what you like, I wouldn't mind."

 

"What? No!" Harry had never felt so horribly ashamed of himself before. "God, Luna, I'm so sorry – I don't know what came over me, I –"

 

She cut off his stammering by placing a finger over his mouth; now she was smiling, but somehow that made him feel worse. "Harry, stop fretting. It was a bit unexpected, but I didn't ask you to stop, did I?"

 

_I don't know if I would have stopped if you'd asked me to_. The realisation hit Harry like a punch in the gut; he barely made it out of bed and into Luna's tiny bathroom before his heaving stomach got the better of him. Thankfully, Luna left him alone as long as he was retching into the toilet, but she came in when she heard him turn on the tap to wash his face and rinse his mouth. He was shaking all over, and he couldn't have said whether it was from being sick or from beginning to grasp what he had done during the past night.

 

Luna's hand on his back startled him, but he didn't dare raise his head; he couldn't have looked her in the eyes right now. She didn't speak, but instead began gently rubbing his back and shoulders, working out knots he hadn't even noticed before. Harry braced himself against the sink and kept his head bowed; the sense of shame deepened, but he still couldn't help leaning into the warm, comforting touch, eternally grateful for the fact that she always seemed to know exactly when not to ask questions.

 

"It's going to be all right, Harry," she finally whispered against the skin of his shoulder, and Harry closed his eyes and wished fervently that he were able to believe her.


	18. Chapter 18

An hour later, the mere thought of breakfast still made Harry's stomach heave, but Luna insisted that he should at least accompany her to the Great Hall. It was Saturday, and Harry wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed again and sleep until afternoon, but after last night, he couldn't bring himself to refuse her. She held out her hand once they had left her room, and Harry took it, pathetically grateful for the comfort she kept offering and deeply ashamed at the thought of how little he deserved it after what he'd done to her.

 

Ron and Hermione were waiting outside the Great Hall, and from the look on their faces, he knew immediately that the news had got out already. Hermione rushed up to him as soon as she spotted him and almost swept him off his feet with the force of her embrace; then she stepped back, held him by the shoulders and looked him up and down as if she were checking for any visible marks Greyback might have left on him.

 

"Harry, are you all right? We have heard all kinds of rumours, and when Ron said that you never came back last night –"

 

"Harry was with me," Luna interrupted her calmly; from her tone, nobody would have been able to guess that she had no idea what Hermione was talking about. "He's fine, Hermione."

 

Harry wasn't sure how she could sound so convinced after everything that had happened, but neither Hermione nor Ron seemed to have heard her anyway. Ron was so pale that his freckles stood out in stark contrast to his skin. "Mate, what happened last night? Somebody said that you were attacked – "

 

A group of first-years passed them by at that moment, and the looks they gave him weren't lost on Harry. "Look, this isn't the place to discuss this. Can we –"

 

"It's true, then?" Ron's eyes were huge, but at least he had the sense to lower his voice. "Fenrir Greyback really attacked you last night?"

 

Harry heard Luna's sharp intake of breath and felt the pressure of her fingers around his increase for a moment. "Yes, it's true. I was out for a walk by the lake, and I ran into Malfoy by Dumbledore's tomb –"

 

Both Ron and Hermione frowned at this, but Harry didn't give them time to interrupt him. "Greyback must have been hiding nearby, and he attacked us. He didn't hurt me," he added quickly. "He went for me, but... Malfoy hit him with a Slashing Hex, and –"

 

"My God, it's _true_?" It was Hermione's turn to ask the question; her fingers were digging so hard into Harry's shoulders that it was beginning to hurt. "I heard that Malfoy killed Greyback, but I couldn't believe it!"

 

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again; for just a second, he had been about to tell her what had really happened, but something held him back. He imagined the horror that would creep into their expressions once they heard what he'd done, and he realised that he wasn't sure whether he'd be able to face it. He didn't like lying to them, but since he would have to maintain the lie towards the rest of the world anyway, it was perhaps better to spare them the truth.

 

"Are you serious? The _ferret_ killed Greyback?"

 

Harry felt strangely bothered by Ron's incredulous tone, although he would have been hard-pressed to say why. "He saved my life last night, Ron."

 

"Blimey." Ron shook his head with a dazed expression, as if he'd just run into a solid obstacle headfirst. "Seems even that pathetic little Death Eater spawn is good for something after all."

 

* * *

 

The Great Hall was surprisingly full for a Saturday morning, and it was impossible to miss the hush that fell over the crowd when Harry took a seat beside Ron at the Gryffindor table. The silence didn't last long, though; soon enough the room was abuzz with whispered conversations, and Harry was painfully aware of the way everybody seemed to cast furtive glances in his direction. He still wasn't hungry, but he forced himself to reach for a piece of toast and nibble at it just to give the appearance that he was eating. He kept his eyes on his plate, determined to act as if nothing had happened; at least his housemates didn't ask him any questions and let him have his breakfast in peace.

 

He only looked up when he heard Neville's gasp next to him. Nobody was paying attention to him any more; all eyes were on the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy had just sat down between Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass. Even from the distance, Harry could see that Madam Pomfrey hadn't managed to heal the scratch from Greyback's claw completely; there was an ugly red line down Draco's cheek, covered in some glistening substance – a Healing Salve or Potion, most likely. He was even paler than usual and had dark circles under his eyes, reminding Harry a bit of the way he had looked during sixth year.

 

People were not just casting glances now, they were staring openly, and it wasn't lost on Harry how the Slytherins next to Draco were huddling together around him, as if to protect him from the sudden scrutiny. Draco himself seemed oblivious to the attention. He wasn't eating, he just stared into his coffee cup as if it held the key to all the world's secrets and nodded mechanically whenever any of his housemates said something to him.

 

Harry was a bit surprised; given that by now everyone was bound to have heard how Draco had allegedly killed Greyback, he had expected him to bask in his new-fangled glory. The view of Draco's bowed silvery blond head brought back memories from the previous night, and Harry felt a hot blush creep up his cheeks. He still had no idea what had come over him, and he wasn't sure he wanted to ponder it, given what it had made him do.

 

His stomach gave an unpleasant lurch at the thought, and he quickly pushed his plate away because he wasn't sure he would be able to keep down another bite of food. "I'm leaving, Ron," he said quietly, trying not to draw any more attention. "Are you coming too?"

 

Ron hastily swallowed a last mouthful of porridge. "In a moment, mate, I – there's something I need to do first." He scrambled to his feet, and Harry's mouth dropped open as he watched Ron cross the Great Hall in a few long, determined strides, clearly heading for the Slytherin table.

 

Draco only raised his head when Ron all but loomed over him, steadfastly ignoring how the Slytherins around Draco looked daggers at him. The hall had gone quiet for the second time this morning, but Ron paid no attention to that either. "Malfoy," he said in a booming voice that seemed even louder for the sudden silence around, "I still think you're a despicable little shit, but Harry says you saved his life, so I want to thank you."

 

For a moment, Draco eyed the hand Ron extended towards him as if he weren't sure what he was supposed to do with it. Then he took it with a stony expression, shook it once and quickly let go again. Harry could see that he said something, but he spoke in a low voice, and the Slytherin table was too far away for him to make out the words.

 

All around, students were sticking their heads together to discuss this surprising new turn of events. Ron seemed unfazed as he walked back to his own table, from where his housemates were giving him curious looks. Harry was convinced that none of them would ever have expected to see Ron Weasley offer his hand to Draco Malfoy, and it was clear from their expressions that they weren't quite sure what to think of it. Only Neville was smiling faintly, while Hermione had such an adoring look on her face that Harry averted his eyes in embarrassment.

 

"Ron, that was really decent and mature of you." She finally seemed to have learned how not to sound so surprised when she approved of something Ron had done. Ron blushed faintly and grinned.

 

"What did he say to you?" Harry hadn't meant to ask, but his curiosity got the better of him.

 

Ron's grin widened. "He said, 'Up yours too, Weasel'. It's a relief, it would have been pretty horrifying if the ferret had thought I was trying to be friendly."

 

There were a few giggles at this around the table; clearly Ron's words had convinced his housemates that the world as they knew it hadn't been turned upside down after all. Harry caught a glimpse of Luna at the Ravenclaw table; she was idly chewing a strand of her hair and watched the Slytherins with a thoughtful expression that stood in stark contrast to her usual dreamy demeanour. It was one of the moments that reminded him how clever Luna really was underneath all her quirks and eccentric beliefs, and it made him strangely uncomfortable for a second.

 

He forgot about it when Ron clapped him on the shoulder and said in a low voice, "I'll meet you in the common room, all right? I think I'd better go wash my hands first."

 

* * *

 

Harry couldn't bring himself to make his way over to Luna's room that evening. They had spent the afternoon studying together in the library, but after dinner, he told her he was tired and wanted to go to bed early. She didn't ask questions, merely gave him a peck on the cheek and bid him goodnight with a smile.

 

He really felt utterly exhausted, even though he hadn't got much work done during the day, but once he was lying in his bed, sleep just wouldn't come. Ron's bed was empty; he was probably still in the common room with Hermione, and Harry felt the silence in the room settle over him like a heavy weight. He concentrated on the sound of his heartbeat, trying to draw comfort from the steady, reassuring reminder that, no matter what had happened, he had lived through it all. It didn't calm him tonight like it had many times before, though; the longer he stared into the darkness, the more the reality of everything that had happened the previous night began to sink in.

 

He had killed Greyback. For years, there had been a part of him that had dreaded the moment when he would have to kill Voldemort, and he still vividly remembered the relief that had flooded him after the final battle at the realisation that it hadn't been necessary after all; that there was no blood on his hands because in the end, it had been Voldemort's own curse that had finished him. Now, however, that last bit of innocence he had still possessed was gone; he had taken a life, had cast the very curse that had cost him his parents and, just a few months ago, had brought him close to death's door himself.

 

He didn't feel guilty for it; there had been no other way. But he was sure there should be something, some sensation of horror, or regret, or – anything, really, not just this cool, detached surprise that it had been so easy. He could still recall the heady rush of power as his curse had hit home, and he wasn't sure what to do with the realisation that he couldn't bring himself to feel sorry that he had killed, when the shame and remorse over what he'd done to Luna afterwards was still strong enough to almost make him physically ill.

 

Harry was immensely glad when Ron snuck into their room close to midnight; he didn't give any indication that he was still awake, but he still felt better now that he was no longer alone with his thoughts. Ron crawled into bed and was asleep within minutes, and the familiar sound of his even breathing eventually managed to lull Harry into sleep as well.

 

* * *

 

_He could feel the power surging through him, cold and deadly; power that was alien and yet incredibly familiar, like a long-forgotten part of himself he had finally remembered. His whole body thrummed with it; he'd never felt so alive, so crackling with energy and excitement. The world lit up in a flash of green light, and he threw his head back and laughed; there was nothing to fear, no one who would ever be able to stand against him, and whatever he wanted was right before him, his for the taking._

_The weight of the warm, hard body on top of him was the most delicious feeling he had ever experienced, and he pressed into it, eager and hot and aching with desire, the grey eyes above him widening with something that might have been fear or arousal or maybe, hopefully, both. He was achingly hard, and there was a hand on him, stroking him so harshly it hurt. Harry clenched his teeth to keep himself from crying out while his hips snapped forward, pushing into the touch. This was his too, and he was going to take, take, take –_

_He was dimly aware of the sound of Ron's breathing, and he knew he mustn't wake him, but it was too much, too much, so he pressed his face into his pillow to muffle his groan as he came in a rush all over his hand, the grey eyes still on his –_

 

That was when his surroundings finally registered on him; he wasn't out by the lake any more, he was in his bed with his hand down his sticky pyjama bottoms, still breathing hard from what must have been the most mind-blowing orgasm he'd ever had in his life.

 

Harry snatched his hand away and wiped it on the sheets with a mixture of revulsion and horror. He was wide awake now, and he wished desperately he could forget what the dream had been about, but the whole scene was still clear in his mind; there was no escaping the fact that he'd just tossed off either to the image of Draco Malfoy or to the memory of killing Greyback, and he wasn't sure which was worse.

 

He had never felt so dirty in his life. Harry all but jumped out of bed and made a dash for the bathroom, wanting nothing more than to wash himself clean of the physical remains of the dream and wishing he could to the same with his brain. Yet even though he scrubbed himself until his skin was red and raw and finished with ice-cold water, the heady, vibrant sensation deep inside him wouldn't disappear completely, and he had no idea what to make of it.

 

Likewise, he had absolutely no idea how he was ever going to face Draco Malfoy again.

 

* * *

 

Hermione was the only Gryffindor from his year at the breakfast table when Harry stumbled into the Great Hall half an hour later. She was half-hidden behind the _Daily Prophet_ she was reading, and Harry's stomach gave an unpleasant jolt when he noticed the photo of Draco on the cover under a headline that screamed in huge black letters, _Lucius Malfoy's son saves Harry Potter's life_.

 

She quickly lowered the newspaper when Harry sat down next to her; she seemed taken aback and a little bit embarrassed, as if he had caught her reading something naughty. "Oh, good morning, Harry – you're up early for a Sunday!"

 

Harry shrugged and reached for the toast; he was ravenously hungry. "Well, so are you."

 

"Yes, but I usually rise early."

 

"So you can read the papers in peace?" Harry asked pointedly, indicating the _Prophet_ she had nonchalantly put aside.

 

Hermione blushed. "It's... Harry, you always say you don't want to hear about anything they're writing, and really, I understand – but I do want to know what they're up to, I think it's important even if I have to wade through all the rubbish they're printing."

 

Something in her tone made Harry uncomfortable. "Hermione, you can read the bloody _Prophet_ whenever you choose. You don't need my permission to do it, and you certainly don't need to get up at some ungodly hour just so I don't see you reading it!"

 

"Of course not," she replied mildly, "but Harry – you know how you get when you're –"

 

"– pissed off?" Harry finished with a wry grin. "Yeah, I suppose I do."

 

It was a relief to see Hermione grin back. "Well, that's something. Why are you up so early, though? Are you going to see Teddy today?"

 

Harry shook his head. "No, I'm going next weekend; I've got a ton of Defence essays to mark today." The thought filled him with dread, given that it would mean spending several hours in the company of Draco Malfoy. He had never been so glad that there were no more Occlumency lessons to prepare; if Draco ever found out about last night's dream, Harry was sure he would die from sheer mortification.

 

He was desperate enough for a change of topic to point at the paper and ask, "So what _are_ they saying that's so important to know?"

 

Hermione's eyebrows rose almost to her hairline. "You really want to hear about it?"

 

"I asked, didn't I?" Harry shot back; the news would likely be infuriating, but right now even Rita Skeeter's latest coup seemed like a welcome distraction.

 

She gave him a wary look, but reached for the paper nevertheless. The photo on the front page was several years old; it showed a Draco who could be no more than fourteen and smirked into the camera with the cocky expression that had always made Harry's fists itch. It felt weirdly familiar, even though he now realised that he hadn't got to see it in quite a while.

 

"Do you want me to read the whole article to you? Only it's Rita at her worst, and I think you've had enough of that."

 

Harry had his mouth full and couldn't answer right away, but she interpreted the look he gave her correctly. "No, there isn't much about you; it's just that it's – well, you know, Rita Skeeter."

 

"Okay, just the abbreviated version, then."

 

Hermione nodded. "Malfoy was asked to give his testimony yesterday – they must have firecalled McGonagall, I'm sure we would have heard if they had sent Aurors to Hogwarts. The Ministry published a statement afterwards; she's got her facts from that, and it seems she didn't dare to twist them too much." She lowered the newspaper with a frown. "I wonder why they didn't ask you to give your version of the events? You were there too, after all."

 

Harry merely shrugged; he had been wondering himself, but he didn't like the answer that seemed most likely to him. Once again he remembered the look McGonagall had given him, and it irked him all the more to realise that she had been right to keep the information about Greyback's true killer from the Ministry.

 

Hermione turned back to the paper when it became obvious that he wasn't going to answer her question. "She's mostly latching on to Greyback and Malfoy – she goes on and on about everything Greyback has ever been rumoured to have done, and I'm sure she's made up half of it – as if he hadn't been horrible enough in reality! There's quite a bit about Malfoy's family background, and the role his father played as Voldemort's henchman. They still don't know Narcissa Malfoy saved you, though, I'm sure Rita would have mentioned it if she'd heard about it."

 

"She was afraid I wouldn't confirm it." Harry had spoken without thinking, and it was too late now to take it back.

 

"Who, Narcissa Malfoy? You really think so?"

 

Harry sighed. "She told me." Anticipating Hermione's next question, he added, "She visited Mrs Tonks on Christmas Day, and I had to talk with her for a bit."

 

Hermione's eyed widened. "You never said!"

 

Harry turned back to his toast, avoiding her accusing gaze. "It didn't seem important."

 

"And she really had the gall to think you would lie about her saving your life? That's so –"

 

"Hermione, I said it's not important," Harry interrupted her impatiently. "Please forget it, okay? What else does the article say?"

 

She looked stung, but still turned back to the paper. "There's an interview with the Minister, and he says the fact that the son of a former Death Eater was willing to save the Boy Who Lived proves that the amnesty was a wise decision, and that we're headed towards healing the wounds the war has left behind. Oh, and he mentions Dolohov has been sighted again and reminds the public to be cautious."

 

Harry's head snapped up at this. "Dolohov was seen? Where? When?"

 

"Shacklebolt didn't say," Hermione replied curtly; from her tone, it was clear that she was annoyed with him. "Perhaps it's not even true, and they just think he'll be easier to catch if he's getting nervous."

 

"He'll also be a lot more dangerous if he's getting nervous," Harry pointed out. "They'd have to be pretty desperate to resort to such tactics."

 

It was Hermione's turn to shrug. "He has been fooling them for eight months now, so they probably are. I'm sure it's difficult to convince people everything is back to normal as long as there's still a dangerous Death Eater on the run."

 

Harry pushed his plate away; he was still hungry, but somehow he had lost his appetite. "If all it took to go back to normal was Dolohov's head on a platter, I'd be out there looking for him myself."

 

Unsurprisingly, Hermione had no answer to that.


	19. Chapter 19

Draco looked up from a scroll of parchment and scowled almost as darkly as Snape's portrait on the wall when Harry entered. "So good of you to join me, Potter. We said after lunch, right?"

 

"It _is_ after lunch," Harry shot back while he sat down and reached for a scroll from the stack between them. "I'm here, so stop whining." He was aware that his cheeks were flushed and his heart was beating a lot faster than it should, but there was nothing he could do about it except keep his eyes on the parchment and hope that Draco wouldn't notice anything.

 

Draco, however, obviously had other ideas, because he put his quill down and pushed the scroll aside. "Would you care to tell me what the hell is going on? Why am I being hailed as the slayer of the Big Bad Wolf while you sit back and act as if you hadn't even been there?"

 

"It was in your own testimony to the Ministry, right?" Harry replied with a shrug.

 

"Don't give me that." There was a hint of barely suppressed annoyance in Draco's tone. "McGonagall woke me up at some ungodly hour this morning and all but ordered me to lie to them. What she failed to tell me was why."

 

Harry reluctantly looked up at this; Draco's expression was neutral, although his eyes were narrowed. The scratch on his cheek was now covered with an ugly reddish-black crust that was beginning to flake at the edges, and Harry wondered fleetingly how on earth he kept himself from picking at it. "She thought it was better if the Ministry didn't find out I had cast a Killing Curse."

 

"I see." Draco drummed his fingers on the tabletop as if he were considering something. The silence that fell between them heightened Harry's discomfort; it was easier to avoid thinking about last night's dream while Draco was talking. Now that he seemed to be deep in thought, Harry couldn't help wondering what exactly those thoughts were about and whether the events right _after_ Greyback's death played a role in them. He felt his blush deepen; it took all his willpower to keep himself from squirming in his seat.

 

"I suppose it makes sense," Draco finally said with the slightest hint of his familiar sneer. "We can't very well ask the wizarding world to wrap their minds around the fact that Saint Potter had it in him to cast an Unforgivable, can we? I suppose I should be glad that McGonagall didn't ask me to tell them that _I_ had AK'd him."

 

It was quiet again for a moment. Draco was clearly expecting an answer, and when Harry remained stubbornly silent, he raised an eyebrow in mock astonishment, "Potter, are you feeling all right? You just missed your cue to point out that I _have_ cast Unforgivables in the past and am therefore capable of anything by default."

 

Harry lowered his head; he couldn't have looked into Draco's eyes right now. "Malfoy, we both know there's lots you're not capable of, so why don't you just drop it?"

 

"Fine." Abruptly, Draco turned back to the scroll on his desk and picked up his quill again. "Start working, I want to be out of here as quickly as possible."

 

Harry bent over his own scroll and tried to focus on the words in front of him, but he found it difficult to concentrate. His thoughts kept returning to Draco's words and the memories they had brought back, memories of Unforgivable Curses _he_ had cast, even if hardly anyone knew about them. He didn't regret putting that goblin and Travers under the Imperius Curse at Gringotts; there had been no other way to save their lives. The Cruciatus Curse against Carrow was another matter entirely – Harry could have just Stunned or Petrified him, there had been no need to deliberately hurt him first. It had just felt so good to finally vent some of his anger and frustration, to make Carrow suffer for everything he had done, even if all he had done right then had been spitting at McGonagall.

 

Funny how he had not been able to use it against Bellatrix two years earlier, when he had been brimming with hatred and grief after Sirius' death – yet it had come to him almost naturally when he had pointed the wand at Carrow and watched his curse hit home with a feeling of deep satisfaction and not the slightest bit of remorse. Perhaps that was what Bellatrix' _You have to mean it!_ had been about.

 

Was that how you went forward on the way into the darkness, step after small step, until you finally left everything behind that made you human? Was that how Tom Riddle had started out?

 

It was strange to realise that none of these questions evoked the feeling of horror Harry would have expected at the thought that he might be going down the same path as Voldemort. It was merely his conscious mind that asked them, but there was no emotion to accompany them, no revulsion, no shock, nothing but a detached, almost clinical curiosity. Where would the path take him, now that he had cast the full set of Unforgivables, that he had ripped his soul apart by taking a life? There was no point in lying to himself, it had felt incredibly good to kill Greyback – the heady rush of power, the knowledge that anyone who dared to cross him would eventually regret it. What would happen to him now, and would he even be aware of the fact that it was happening before it was too late?

 

That last thought brought back memories of what he'd done to Luna right after Greyback's death, and only now the horrified revulsion he had been unable to feel before hit Harry with full force. What was he going to end up doing to those around him, to all the people he loved, if this... something that seemed to be festering inside him was allowed to grow? Just a few months ago, he had been willing to sacrifice his life for their sake – what if he had indeed been destined to die back then and was endangering them now by his mere existence? What if, in some twisted way, it had been that part of Voldemort's soul inside him that had made him who he was, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the wizarding world's saviour, and it was all coming apart now that the enemy who had shaped his whole life was gone from the world as well as from within himself?

 

The letters on the parchment were swimming before his eyes, and it was only when his quill snapped in his hand that Harry became aware he had been gripping it so hard that his knuckles were white. He cast a quick glance to the side, but Draco was scribbling something on his own parchment and paid no attention to him. When he looked up, he saw Snape's portrait give him a piercing, calculating stare and hastily bent over the scroll once more. He'd have to think about all this later, when he'd had time to calm down; right now there was nothing he could do except to concentrate on the task at hand.

 

* * *

 

Harry's heart was in his throat when he knocked on Luna's door that evening. He had been debating with himself all afternoon whether he should come here or not, but finally the need to make sure that things were all right between them had won out. "Hi, Luna, is it okay if..."

 

"Come in," she interrupted him with a bright smile, and Harry experienced a strange mixture of relief and chagrin at the realisation that she wasn't angry with him although he would have deserved it. "I was just about to go to bed. Are you staying with me tonight?"

 

Harry leaned in to kiss her and took comfort from the fact that she didn't flinch away. "If you'll let me?"

 

"Of course," she replied with another smile and hooked a finger into his belt to pull him towards the bed.

 

It was rare for Luna to initiate sex, but it was clear enough that this was what she had in mind now, and after a moment's hesitation, Harry decided to go with it. He hadn't planned to sleep with her tonight, and he definitely wasn't in the mood, but if this was what Luna needed to get past the things that had happened two nights earlier, the least he could do was to make sure that she enjoyed it this time.

 

He tried to recall what she had liked best during their previous nights together; until now he'd usually just gone with the momentum and had hardly ever thought about what they were doing. Now he took care to pay attention to her reactions, focussing on the places that made her gasp and sigh when he touched her. He even went down on her although he found it just as disgusting as he had the first – and so far only – time he'd tried it; if Luna was surprised, she didn't show it, and she certainly seemed to appreciate what he was doing to her, even if he had to keep stroking himself throughout in order to stay hard.

 

He pulled her on top of him afterwards, holding on to her hips as she straddled him and allowing her to set the pace. This was his least favourite position because there was so little contact except in the obvious places, but tonight he wanted to give her total control over what was happening. Overall, it was the least enjoyable sex he'd ever had, but at least he was concentrating so hard throughout that his mind couldn't wander into other, dangerous places. Harry was thoroughly grateful when Luna finally snuggled up to him and soon began to snore softly against his shoulder. He held on to the reassuring knowledge that he hardly ever dreamed in her bed, but it still took him a long time to fall asleep.

 

He felt as if he hadn't slept at all when he woke at the crack of dawn with the vague image of a pair of grey eyes lit up by a blinding flash of green in his mind. His heart was racing; he was achingly hard and covered in sweat that made the sheets stick uncomfortably to his naked body. It took him a moment to remember that Luna was sleeping next to him with her arm across his chest and that the last thing he wanted was to let her notice the state he was in.

 

Careful not to disturb her, Harry extricated himself and crept into the tiny bathroom. Gritting his teeth, he stepped into the shower stall and braced himself; the water was so cold that it stung on his skin, but it took care of his erection and cleared his head from any lingering remains of the dream. Harry stayed under the icy spray until his lips turned blue and his teeth began to clatter; then he wrapped himself into one of Luna's brightly coloured towels and tiptoed back into the bedroom.

 

Luna was still sleeping soundly, and Harry was glad of it; he had no idea what he could possibly say to her right now. He dressed as quietly as he could, brushed a feathery kiss on her forehead just in case she was only pretending to be asleep (you never knew with Luna), and slipped out of the room.

 

* * *

 

"Today, my dears, I have something really interesting for you." Slughorn beamed at the Potions class and pulled a small vial filled with clear liquid from the pocket of his waistcoat. "Can anyone tell me what this is?"

 

Hermione's hand shot up, followed by Draco's, who raised his more slowly, probably because he knew that Slughorn would ignore him anyway.

 

Slughorn did indeed not even spare Draco a glance, but he didn't ask Hermione to speak either. "I'm sure there are more of you who are familiar with it – come on, Harry, give me your best guess!"

 

Harry sighed under his breath; they were more than halfway into the school year, but Slughorn still hadn't given up hope that Harry's supposed knack for Potions would miraculously return at some point. Since Harry needed "Exceeds Expectations" at Potions to get into Auror training, he hoped for his own sake that he wouldn't let Slughorn down too badly when he sat his NEWTs.

 

Right now, however, he could only count on his luck, because he had no idea what to say. He had seen so many colourless potions in Snape's class, beginning with –

 

Harry felt his insides turn to ice as realisation dawned. Of course this was one of the most _interesting_ potions, since it was one of the most complex and dangerous, and therefore reserved for students at NEWTs level.

 

"Veritaserum," he replied curtly, trying to keep his voice even when he would have loved nothing better than to bolt from the room. He had hardly slept for the last two nights because his dreams kept getting more and more intense, leaving him tired and distraught and painfully aware of just how much he had to hide. He could only hope that Slughorn wouldn't actually make them drink the potion – but the glint in the beady little eyes told him that their professor was planning to do exactly that. Harry needed a way out of this, and he needed it fast...

 

Slughorn, blissfully unaware of his favourite student's discomfort, announced, "Very good, my dear boy – ten points to Gryffindor! Yes, this is Veritaserum, the most powerful Truth Serum that exists. It is strictly regulated by the Ministry, and I had to get special permission to demonstrate its uses in class. To that end, I'm asking you to pair up for the preparation of the potion. I know we don't usually do teamwork at this level, since you will all be on your own during your exams, but now you need a partner to test whether you brewed it correctly. Given the nature of Veritaserum, I'd advise you to choose somebody you trust."

 

Harry quickly turned towards Ron and Hermione, but both of them were shooting him apologetic looks while they inched closer to each other. He knew that he couldn't blame them, but he still felt a stab of irrational anger as if they had betrayed him somehow. He fervently wished that Luna were in this class, because she was the only partner he'd have been halfway comfortable with, but of course that was no help. All over the classroom, students were craning their necks and weighing their options. Harry received several hopeful glances, but he responded to none of them; he couldn't think of anyone he trusted enough to let them question him under Veritaserum. Yet more and more people were pairing up, and since there was an even number of students, he'd eventually be forced to work with the person everybody else had snubbed, which probably meant –

 

Almost without conscious thought, Harry turned his head to look at Draco, who was sitting at the back of the room and wore an expression of dismay and barely controlled panic that matched Harry's own feelings on the matter. He was the only Slytherin in Slughorn's class, so there was nobody for him to turn to, and if there was anyone in the classroom who had even more to hide than Harry, it was probably him. It was just too bad that Draco was also the last person Harry would ever let in on his deepest secrets since –

 

That was when the idea hit him. Harry was out of his chair before he'd had time to properly think about it, but he was sure that this was the only possible way out of the mess Slughorn had got him into. Draco eyed him as if he had grown a second head when Harry flopped down in the empty seat next to him, ignoring the stares he was drawing from the students around them.

 

Before anyone could say anything, Slughorn clapped his hands. "Excellent, excellent. Now that everyone has a partner, please come up to my desk to get the ingredients. I advise you to handle them carefully – the brewing process of this potion is extremely delicate, and since it takes a full moon-cycle to mature, you'll have to start over in a month if you make just the slightest mistake now."

 

Harry didn't get to hear the rest of Slughorn's instructions because amidst the rustling of robes and scraping of chairs, Draco leaned closer and hissed, "Potter, what the fuck are you playing at?"

 

"I'm offering you a deal, Malfoy," Harry replied in a low voice. "You're good at Potions, aren't you? I mean _really_ good?"

 

For a second, Draco seemed about to point out how that made him different from Harry, but he thought better of it. Instead he merely shot back, "Yes, and?"

 

"Can you brew a variation of Veritaserum that's indistinguishable from the real stuff, but also completely useless? Right under Slughorn's nose without him noticing?"

 

Draco's eyed narrowed at this; he fell silent for a moment, and Harry could almost see the wheels turning in his head. He was sure Draco had understood him; now everything depended on the question whether he trusted Harry enough to agree to the deal.

 

At last, Draco gave a tiny nod, at it wasn't lost on Harry how his shoulders relaxed slightly. "I might."

 

Harry rose from his chair and pointed towards Slughorn's desk where his classmates were already busy gathering the ingredients they needed. "Then tell me exactly what to do."

 

* * *

 

Harry wasn't surprised when Hermione made a beeline for him the moment they had left the Potions classroom. "Harry, what on earth were you thinking?"

 

"Seriously, mate," Ron added gravely, "I get it that you're grateful he saved your neck, but he was just paying back his debts, wasn't he? There's really no need to get friendly with him."

 

"I wasn't _getting friendly_ ," Harry replied, his patience already wearing thin. "I'll only have to work with him for one more lesson a month from now, when we finish the potion."

 

"Yes, and test it!" Ron reminded him. "Do you really want the ferret to nose around in your brain?"

 

_Not again if I can help it._ Harry knew better than to voice that thought; he still wondered whether Draco had ever told anyone about the things he'd seen in Harry's mind during that blasted Occlumency training session. "Not particularly, but since I get to ask him a few interesting questions in return..."

 

From the look Ron gave him, it was clear to Harry that he wasn't falling for this explanation, but Hermione suddenly seemed thoughtful. "You have a point; perhaps he lets something slip that we should know. You needn't be too concerned about yourself, I suppose – I'm sure Slughorn will monitor closely which questions we ask."

 

"I still don't like it," Ron insisted stubbornly, ignoring Hermione's indignant huff.

 

"Then you shouldn't have let me fend for myself in there, should you?" Harry snapped, his temper getting the better of him. He knew he was being childish and self-centred, but during moments like this it was still difficult to deal with the fact that they no longer were the team they had once been, that Hermione and Ron had now fenced off a part of their lives he had no access to.

 

Ron flushed angrily, but Hermione cut in before he could say anything. "You don't mean that, Harry. You didn't think we were implying you couldn't handle Malfoy, did you?" The placating smile she gave him made Harry want to shrink back from the gentle touch of her hand which she had placed on his arm. "We know that you can, of course – _you_ have nothing to hide, after all, so you've got nothing to worry about."


	20. Chapter 20

"Harry, wake up!"

 

A hand on his shoulder, warm and rough; so very different from the cool, smooth skin that had brushed against his chest, his hips, his thighs a second ago, encircling him in an embrace that left him shivering with a mixture of fear and arousal. Harry opened his eyes and blinked as Ron's face swam into focus – broad, freckled and friendly, but set in a concerned frown. The memory of the boy he'd been looking at just before was already fading from his mind – _pale, slender and graceful, his smile sharp and brilliant like a chip of ice, his eyes as dark as his hair. When he spoke, his voice seemed to come from within Harry's own brain, as if the words had always been there and just been waiting for him to remember them. He –_

 

"Are you all right, mate?" Ron shook him none too gently, as if he were afraid that Harry might drift off again. Harry shrugged his hand away in a sudden flash of annoyance; why did Ron have to wake him? The words he'd heard the voice speak were slipping away from him now, and even though he tried to hold on to them, he was left with nothing but the memory of a whispering touch and those all-seeing dark eyes, serene like an angel's with hell's fire burning in their depths.

 

"Yes, of course I'm all right, why wouldn't I be? What did you have to wake me up for?"

 

Ron let go of Harry's shoulder, but otherwise didn't react to Harry's cranky tone. "I thought you were having another bad dream, so I –"

 

"I didn't," Harry cut him off, hoping that he wasn't blushing; his dreams of late were no subject he was willing to discuss with Ron. "I wasn't screaming, was I?"

 

"No, but..." Ron hesitated, as if he had trouble finding the right words. For a heart-stopping moment, Harry was convinced that he'd talked in his sleep and tried not to imagine what kind of things he might have said – there were too many possibilities, and all of them made him wish for the ground to open up and swallow him.

 

"It's just that I heard you..." Ron faltered again, and Harry braced himself for the worst.

 

"You heard what?"

 

Ron took a deep breath. "I heard you speak Parseltongue in your sleep."

 

The room went very quiet after that announcement. Harry just stared at Ron, his mind strangely blank – _the soft, sibilant sounds, the whisper of smooth, cool scales over his naked skin..._

 

"But that's impossible." How could his voice come out so flat and calm? "That was always _him_ , not me; Voldemort gave me the ability to speak Parseltongue when he left that bit of his soul in me, and it's gone now."

 

Ron flinched, but he held Harry's gaze. "I know that. But I've heard you talk to snakes before, and the way you were hissing now – I'm sorry, but there was no mistaking it."

 

"Why are you doing this?" Harry felt his temper rise, and it was oddly liberating to finally have someone to direct his anger at. "What are you trying to –"

"Don't you _dare_ finish that question!" Ron's voice was now getting louder too. "I'm on your side, all right? It's not as if I ever wanted to hear it again, but I know I just did!"

 

"One way to find out." Harry's anger subsided as quickly as it had flared up; he reached for his wand on the bedside table and pointed it at the far corner of the room. He'd never tried that spell, and he'd only heard it once, but if a twelve-year-old Draco Malfoy had been able to cast it...

 

" _Serpensortia_!"

 

"What the –" Ron didn't sound too shocked, which was probably due to the fact that Harry's spell had only produced a rather unassuming brown garden snake (one probably _did_ need a bit of practice, after all), but he clearly wasn't happy with this turn of events. "Have you gone completely mental? What was that for?"

 

"I'd have thought it was obvious." Harry kept his eyes on the snake, which was coiled tightly in the corner and seemed to try the taste of the air with its flickering tongue. "I'm going to talk to it, and once you realise that it doesn't understand what I'm saying you'll hopefully let this whole thing go."

 

The snake raised its head and focussed its beady little eyes on him. "I do underssstand you," it said. "I don't like thisss place – it'ssss cold, and you sssmell wrong."

 

Harry suddenly felt very cold himself. This couldn't be happening – it was impossible, it had to be another nightmare, and he was going to wake up any moment and –

 

"Harry, mate," Ron's shaky voice interrupted his racing thoughts, "I've no idea what you said right now, but it sure as hell was Parseltongue."

 

"I know," Harry replied tonelessly. "It answered me. The snake, I mean."

 

He raised his wand without even thinking about it; all he knew was that he wanted this thing gone from his presence this instant. There was no need to speak the incantation; a flick of his wand, and the snake vanished without another sound.

 

It was Ron who finally broke the silence. "Harry –"

 

"Don't," Harry cut him off, realising too late that it had come out a lot harsher than he'd intended. "It's just – I need to think about this. Let's not talk about it right now, all right? And don't tell anyone else."

 

"Not even Hermione?" It was clear that Ron had been planning to do just that right away, but Hermione fussing over him was the last thing Harry wanted right now.

 

"No, not even her. Promise me." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "Please?"

 

"Fine." It was still obvious that Ron wasn't happy about this. "But you really need to sort this out, mate, you know that, don't you?"

 

Harry looked away; he couldn't have met Ron's worried gaze right now. "Yes, I know."

 

* * *

 

Harry skipped breakfast that morning; he wouldn't have been able to eat if his life depended on it. The first class of the day was Potions, and he went down to the dungeons an hour early; it was the only place he could think of where nobody would wander by and try to talk to him. The Potions classroom was still locked, so he sat outside the door on the floor, his limbs slowly going numb from the cold stone slabs and his mind in turmoil.

 

It had been over a month since that fateful night he'd killed Greyback, and it was becoming more and more obvious that something had happened to him back then. The dreams he kept having – they were getting more intense all the time, leaving him with images that made him want to scrub his brain when he woke up hard and panting, both ashamed of himself and excited in a way he'd never known before. At first they had been about Draco, and that had been bad enough – he hadn't slept with Luna for almost three weeks now because he couldn't bring himself to touch her while he got flashes of how it had felt to have Draco pressed against him. It had been almost a relief to blame his old arch-enemy for ruining this for him, but now he kept getting glimpses of others as well, of faces and bodies and voices that were sometimes strange, sometimes disturbingly familiar.

 

There was something else to the dreams, something dark and sinister that Harry had no name for and that should never have given him the thrill it invariably did. He went to bed with a sick feeling of dread each night, and yet a small, traitorous part of his mind was eagerly anticipating the rush of sensation that was like nothing he'd ever experienced until the night he had cast the Killing Curse. It made him find excuses when Luna invited him to spend the night in her room – he'd have loved nothing better than to cuddle up to her and enjoy the feeling of peace that always overcame him in her arms, but he didn't dare to fall asleep next to her any more. The dreams had left him feeling filthy, as if he'd been tainted by something that he needed to keep away from those he cared for. He'd cancelled his weekend visits to Mrs Tonks' house, claiming that he was swamped with NEWTs preparations – he missed Teddy, but the mere idea of coming near the little boy while this... _thing_ was going on with him made Harry's skin crawl. It had just been a hunch, a mere gut feeling until now, but after what had happened this morning –

 

Ever since he'd heard the snake talk, he'd tried in vain not to consider the possibility that was staring him in the face. He still remembered Dumbledore's explanations, and how they had all made sense back then – the piece of Voldemort's soul that Harry had been carrying within his own most of his life was gone, destroyed forever like the wizard who had given it to him. For almost a year now, Harry's soul had been entirely his own, and yet he had never managed to feel the difference – at least not in the way he'd expected. If anything, he felt as if he were now missing a part of himself, as if a piece of his own soul had been taken from him instead of the Dark Lord's poisoned gift.

 

He'd been worrying for so long what the loss of Voldemort's presence was doing to him, and whether everything that had happened since he'd killed Greyback only proved that he wouldn't be able to keep going on his own, that by cheating death back then in the forest he had only chosen another, much more painful and dangerous way of destroying himself. Yet it had never occurred to him that the _opposite_ might be true, that the darkness was stirring within him once more because it had never been gone in the first place.

 

Harry didn't want to believe it, didn't want to even think of the possibility that Dumbledore might have been wrong about this too, that what had looked like his greatest victory might in fact have been his most devastating defeat. If there really was a chance that a piece of Voldemort's soul had survived, and if it was growing stronger now while his own defences kept weakening –

 

"That must be the first time you've ever been early for anything, Potter."

 

Harry did a double-take; he'd been so lost in thought that he hadn't heard anyone approaching, and for the first time in his life, even the sight of Draco Malfoy was a welcome distraction.

 

"Early for wh- oh, right." Harry remembered just in time; over everything that had happened in the morning, he'd actually forgotten that they were supposed to finish and test their Veritaserum today. He had no idea how Draco was planning to get them out of this dilemma – the only times he'd seen Draco alone during the past four weeks had been in Snape's classroom, and there was no way he would have addressed the matter in front of Snape's portrait. Draco had told him to turn up twenty minutes before today's Potions lesson, though, so it was just as well that he'd come to the dungeons early.

 

"Did you find a way to make the potion useless?"

 

Draco nodded briskly. "I think so."

 

"You _think_ so?" Harry's heart sank. "That means I'll basically have to wait and see whether I'm about to –" He stopped himself just in time, but Draco was already giving him a curious look.

 

"It's not as if I'd have been able to test it first, is it? Stop fretting, Potter, I know what I'm doing. And now listen carefully, I don't want you to screw up everything at the last moment."

 

* * *

 

"And finally, take great care to keep stirring clockwise while you add the powdered cobra fangs. Once they've dissolved, switch to counter-clockwise and keep stirring until the potion turns completely clear, then take it off the fire immediately."

 

Slughorn beamed at the class as if he were granting them a special treat by taking them through the finishing stages of the brewing process, but Harry wasn't paying attention to him. He was stirring carefully while he kept watching Draco out of the corner of his eyes. Draco was still busy crushing the snake fangs into a fine powder – rattlesnake instead of cobra fangs, just like he'd replaced several other ingredients they had been supposed to add during the last half hour. He kept murmuring instructions to Harry, who did exactly as he was told – he was completely out of his depth here, so all he could do was hope that Draco knew what he was doing.

 

Draco seemed confident enough while he sprinkled the powdered fangs over the surface of the bubbling liquid in the cauldron. "Once I'm done, stir clockwise once more, then switch to counter-clockwise, but take it off the fire once it starts to clear. I'm not sure how unstable the potion is thanks to the changes I made, and I'd rather not have it blow up in our faces."

 

"Right." Harry kept stirring and watching the potion carefully. Soon enough, it began to lose its opaque quality and became transparent enough for him to see the bottom of the cauldron. "Shall I take it off the fire now?"

 

"You'd better." Draco peered into the cauldron and nodded when the potion quickly turned crystal clear once Harry had set the cauldron down on the table. "It looks good so far."

 

"Do you think it worked?" Now that he no longer needed to concentrate on the brewing process, Harry felt his anxiety rise again. If something had gone wrong after all...

 

Draco shrugged, although he didn't seem to be quite as calm as he tried to appear either. "We're about to find out."

 

"Everybody finished? Then let's start with the testing!" Slughorn clapped his hands, looking for all the world as if he were actually looking forward to the prospect of a classroom full of students forced to reveal their innermost secrets. "Remember, this is just a way to find out whether the potion works – you don't want to embarrass your partner, so I don't want to hear any questions that are too personal or otherwise inappropriate. Ready now? Then take just a spoonful, that should wear off before the end of this class. Let's get started!"

 

There were uncomfortable looks all around while everybody swallowed a spoonful of their potion. Harry felt so nervous now that his throat closed up and he had trouble forcing the mouthful of liquid down; the potion was practically tasteless, which was probably intentional so that you could slip it into someone's drink without risk of detection. Then again, real Veritaserum might actually taste different – he'd hopefully never have to find out.

 

Slughorn made a beeline for Harry and Draco's table; for all his cheerful behaviour, he was obviously aware that these two and a dose of Veritaserum were a combination that spelled trouble. "I'll keep monitoring the questioning to see whether your potions work. Let's start with you, Harry – come on, ask your partner a question!"

 

This was the tricky part; Draco had pointed out during their talk before the lesson that in order to fool Slughorn, they needed to ask questions the other one would not be keen to answer. Harry had to admit he was right, yet he didn't want to risk a truly embarrassing question – not so much because he was worried Slughorn would step in, but because Draco would get a chance to retaliate in kind right afterwards. And if the changes to the potion _hadn't_ been enough after all...

 

"Did you really like playing with Teddy at Christmas, or did you just do it because your mother wanted you to?" It was a question that gave Draco the opportunity to come up with a long, detailed answer, faking the effects of Veritaserum that made the drinker _want_ to spill all his secrets.

 

"I only accompanied my mother to my aunt's house because she kept pestering me," Draco replied immediately. "I had absolutely no interest in my half-blood cousin's mongrel whelp, but he seemed to decide that he liked me the moment he saw me. I noticed how much my mother liked that, so I played with him for a bit, and it wasn't as bad as I'd imagined." Draco's deadpan expression gave Harry no hint whether this was a truth the potion had forced out of him, or a complete lie.

 

Slughorn nodded approvingly. "That sounded convincing enough. Now ask Harry a question, Mr Malfoy, but remember what I said earlier!"

 

Draco didn't hesitate; he'd obviously planned beforehand what he was going to ask. "What was your favourite toy when you were a child?"

 

It was, Harry had to admit, a question worthy of a Slytherin – completely innocuous on the surface, but since Draco was likely aware of how Harry had spent his childhood, there was a malice to it that reminded Harry a lot of the Draco Malfoy he'd known before the war. It was reassuring to see that some things obviously never changed.

 

Of course, there was no way he was ever going to tell Draco about the battered teddy bear he'd stolen from Dudley's room when he was five and successfully hidden for two years before Aunt Petunia found it and threw it out because it was filthy. The realisation that he didn't feel any urge to voice that thought made Harry almost dizzy with relief – whatever Draco had done with the potion, it had clearly worked. There was no time to dwell on it, though; he needed to answer immediately if he wanted to fool Slughorn.

 

"I didn't have one. I played with whatever was available when I was small, but since my cousin would break it eventually, or my aunt and uncle would take it away, I knew better than to get attached to anything."

 

Slughorn clucked his tongue, and for a moment Harry was afraid that the professor was going to pat him on the shoulder, but he obviously thought better of it. "Not to speak ill of the dead, but Dumbledore has a lot to answer for." He threw a quick glance at the potion in their cauldron, sniffed briefly, and then gave Harry a beaming smile. "Very well done, my boy – that will be full marks, and ten points for Gryffindor. Not that I expected anything less from Lily Evans' son, of course."

 

Harry did his best not to wince; he was quite thankful when Draco distracted Slughorn by asking in a slightly challenging tone, "What about me, Professor?"

 

Slughorn seemed startled, as if he had already forgotten Draco's presence. He hesitated for a second, but then clearly realised there was no justification for giving Draco lower marks than Harry. "Yes, yes, full marks for you too, Mr Malfoy."

 

With that, he moved on to the next pair of students to check on the success of their potion.

 

Harry couldn't help smirking at Draco once Slughorn was out of earshot. "No points for you, eh? So much for Slytherins looking out for their own."

 

Draco shrugged, his face impassive, although it wasn't lost on Harry how the pale pink scar across his cheek took on a slightly darker hue. "Well, there are always exceptions. Gryffindor ingratitude, on the other hand, is something you can count on at all times."

 

* * *

 

It seemed like cruel irony that the Defence lesson that followed right after Potions was dedicated to magical ways of keeping secrets. Harry was deeply grateful that Snape's lecture lasted for the whole duration of the lesson; his thoughts kept wandering, and he would have failed miserably at any kind of practical demonstration today. He was hardly bothered by the fact that he couldn't bring himself to listen to anything Snape was saying; he could always use Hermione's notes to catch up later.

 

However, Snape signalled for Harry and Draco to stay behind when the bell rang and the other students rushed out for their lunch break. "Potter, Malfoy, there are some preparations for next Monday's lesson that we need to discuss. I have to go see the Headmistress now, but it will only take me a moment, so wait for me here." Without waiting for them to answer, he turned on his heel and, robes billowing, walked out of his frame.

 

As soon as they were alone, Draco turned to face Harry. "All right, Potter, now that I've saved you from Slughorn's clutches, would you care to tell me what the hell that was about?"


	21. Chapter 21

"You don't seriously expect me to answer that question, Malfoy, do you?"

 

Draco gave Harry a piercing look. "You can hardly blame me for being curious. I know why _I_ don't want anyone to turn my brain inside out, but why on earth would everyone's darling saviour be so afraid of the truth that he'd rather ask _me_ to brew fake Veritaserum for him? It's not as if Slughorn would have let anyone ask you about your wet dreams or something like that!"

 

For a moment, Harry felt as if his heart had stopped. He could only stare at Draco, painfully aware of the fact that his cheeks were burning crimson and his eyes were wide with shock. Of course, there was no way Draco could possibly know, he'd just said the first thing that had come to his mind to make Harry uncomfortable, but still –

 

Draco seemed rather perplexed by Harry's reaction, but before he could say anything, a sharp voice spoke up behind them, making them both jump.

 

" _Fake_ Veritaserum? What are you talking about?"

 

Harry turned around slowly, already certain what he was going to see: Snape, eyes narrowed, was scowling at them from his portrait frame.

 

"Why are you back so soon?" Harry blurted out before he could think better of it. "You said you –"

 

"The Headmistress was busy," Snape replied curtly, "and don't try to dodge my question, Potter. What was Mr Malfoy referring to?"

 

"It's none of your business," Harry replied as coldly as he could. "It has nothing to do with your class, so –"

 

"Professor Slughorn made us brew and test Veritaserum, and Potter asked me to brew a variation that was indistinguishable from the real potion, but completely useless," Draco interrupted him calmly. For a second, Harry had to fight the urge to punch the traitorous little shit in the face, but now that the damage was already done, it wouldn't have accomplished anything.

 

To his surprise, Snape's expression turned thoughtful rather than angry. "Slughorn is an idiot to keep the Veritaserum testing on the curriculum at a time like this. I take it you managed to fool him?"

 

Draco nodded with the tiniest amount of smugness, obviously not quite sure himself yet what to make of Snape's reaction.

 

Snape clucked his tongue. "Quite impressive. I can see why Mr Potter would turn to you, since it was in your own best interest to keep your secrets. Which, of course, brings me to the question which secrets _you_ are so desperate to keep, Potter."

 

Harry opened his mouth to tell Snape in no uncertain terms that he would get his answer when hell froze over – and closed it again when a thought struck him. No matter how much he still disliked Snape, there could be no doubt that the man had given his life to overcome Voldemort, and he might be the only person to know the Dark Lord even better than Dumbledore had. Perhaps it might really be a good idea to present him with a carefully edited version of the problem in order to hear what he had to say about it. Harry knew that he could always ask Dumbledore's portrait for advice instead, but ever since he'd gone back to review his memories from the night in the forest, he had felt reluctant to face Dumbledore again. Snape, at least, would never lie to him because he wanted to spare him a painful truth.

 

It didn't even occur to Harry to ask Draco to leave first, since he knew Draco could never tell anyone about this anyway. Draco had been the one to brew the fake potion, and even if there might be some repercussions for Harry if Slughorn were to find out, Harry definitely wouldn't be expelled for cheating so blatantly, but there was a good chance that Draco would.

 

"The memory you gave me before you died – how Dumbledore told you about that bit of Voldemort's soul inside mine. He said that it could only be destroyed by my death, remember?"

 

Snape's face darkened. "I'm not likely to ever forget. What about it?"

 

Harry took a deep breath. "I'm beginning to think that he might have been right."

 

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

 

"I _didn't_ die, did I?" Harry tried to remain calm, but he couldn't help it that his voice shook a bit. "Dumbledore told me that Voldemort had killed the part of himself in my soul when he hit me with the Killing Curse, and how that had been enough. But lately I've begun wondering whether – whether he isn't still there."

 

"What makes you think so?" Snape's expression was deadpan.

 

"I feel like – like he's making me do things I shouldn't be able to do." In a way, it was a relief to finally voice his fears, even if it was Snape who was listening. "I first thought it was me, but now I found out that I can still speak Parseltongue – that was _his_ ability, not mine, so I should no longer have it. And when – you know that _I_ killed Greyback, don't you?"

 

Snape merely inclined his head, and Harry pressed on, "I never thought that I had it in me to cast the Killing Curse, but when I did – I mean, I didn't even think about it, it was as if I'd done it hundreds of times before, and it was – I felt it, I could feel him die, and it felt..."

 

"Good?" Snape asked with a hint of disgust, and Harry could just nod, his head bowed so that he wouldn't have to look Snape in the face. He knew Snape had done much worse, but Harry had seen firsthand how much he had hated it, while he –

 

Harry cast a sidelong glance at Draco, whose presence he had all but forgotten for a while, and was surprised to see that Draco looked thoughtful rather than taken aback. Had Draco _known_ that Harry had been the last Horcrux? Only Snape could possibly have told him, and Harry wasn't sure how he felt about the fact that Draco apparently discussed him with Snape.

 

"So," Snape began slowly, "what you're saying is that you think the Dark Lord is still there, somewhere deep inside you."

 

Harry nodded once more and finally brought himself to look at Snape's portrait again. Snape's expression was hard to read, but there was disdain in it as well as concern.

 

"You're horrified that you are able to kill – an ability which, I might add, you only discovered _after_ the war, during which scores of other people have killed for your sake." The familiar sneer was back when Snape continued, "Gryffindors have always been very good at making others do the dirty work for them while keeping themselves pristine. So you'd rather blame the Dark Lord instead of facing the possibility that you aren't quite the saint you always believed yourself to be?"

 

"This isn't about me!" Harry exploded. "Don't you get it? I can still talk to snakes! Don't you see what could happen if he's really still there, inside me, growing stronger all the time? What makes you so sure he's not going to take over at some point?"

 

Snape let the outbreak pass; he seemed deep in thought. "I suspect there's a lot you're not telling me, Potter, but I still can't deny that it would be dangerous to dismiss the possibility that you're right. The Dark Lord has been nothing if not resourceful when it came to self-preservation, so there is always a chance that he might have tricked death once again."

 

Harry squared his shoulders; now that the danger had been addressed, it somehow became easier to focus on the question of how to overcome it. "Is there a way to tell for certain?"

 

"Legilimency would be the best solution if I were still alive," Snape replied. "The Dark Lord has invaded my mind many times, so I know what it feels like to come in contact with him."

 

"You never noticed him while you _were_ reading my thoughts," Harry pointed out; as expected, this earned him a dirty look from the portrait.

 

"That's because any trace of his presence I detected in your mind back then I ascribed to the connection you shared with him in your dreams. It doesn't matter anyway; I'm just a portrait with no magical ability, so that option is no longer available. Everyone else who has been in contact with the Dark Lord's mind is either dead or on the run, except –"

 

Snape was no longer looking at Harry, but at Draco, who was leaning against the wall and had gone very pale at Snape's last words. There was dead silence for a moment; then Draco said in a surprisingly small voice, "Except my father."

 

* * *

 

Harry found Luna and Hermione studying at the same desk in the library, which suited him perfectly since there was a question he wanted to ask both of them.

 

He sat down next to Luna and, after checking carefully that Madam Pince wasn't around,

kissed her on the cheek. It earned him an indulgent smile from Hermione and a brilliant one from Luna, which lifted his spirits a bit in spite of the storm that was raging inside him.

 

"Can you two help me with something? I have to write an essay on magical secret-keeping for Snape, but I'm a bit stuck."

 

"Yes, of course." The expression on Hermione's face, a mixture of eagerness and superiority, took Harry right back to their early school years and made him almost nostalgic for a moment. In hindsight, those had been the happiest years of his life, even with the threat of Voldemort constantly hanging over his head.

 

"I have to find a way to get help from a person I don't trust, in a situation that forces me to give them information they could use against me. I've been thinking of Memory Charms, but..."

 

"Memory Charms can be broken," Hermione interrupted him. "Besides, it would be very difficult to make them forget exactly the things you don't want them to know. Wait a moment, I'm going to look up some-"

 

"An Unbreakable Vow." Now it was Luna's turn to interrupt Hermione. She was chewing on her quill with a vacant expression, but her tone was all business. "Make the person swear beforehand never to disclose the information, and never to act based upon it. Solves all your problems."

 

Hermione seemed a bit miffed, but she nodded. "That's probably a good solution, yes. If the person agrees to take the oath, they die if they break it, so there's no risk for you involved. I'll see if I –"

 

Luna cut her off for the second time. "There's a book on Unbreakable Vows in the section about Magical Bonding." She took the quill from her mouth and pointed it at a shelf three rows away. "I don't remember the author, but I think it was bound in green leather. I'm sure you'll find everything you need in there."

 

Despite the severity of the situation, Harry had to bite back a grin as he got up. "I'll go look for it, thank you."

 

* * *

 

Draco's blond hair shone like a beacon in the darkness when Harry spotted him at the end of the corridor. He was leaning against the wall, staring straight ahead as if he had fallen asleep with his eyes open while waiting for Harry. He startled violently when Harry shrugged off his Invisibility Cloak next to him, but recovered quickly. "About time, Potter. Come with me."

 

"Where are we going?" Harry asked in a low voice as he set out to follow Draco down a flight of stairs that led to the dungeons. Snape's message had just let him know that an arrangement had been made, but it hadn't given him any details.

 

"Professor Snape's former quarters," Draco replied curtly. "My father will be able to get there via Floo, since the fireplace is spelled to operate past any existing wards. Snape told me the password to his study, and there's a picture frame in his study that he can use."

 

Harry nodded; he wasn't sure how he felt about the fact that Snape had insisted on being present the whole time while Harry met with Lucius Malfoy. Agreeing had been the only way to get him to arrange the meeting and to keep it secret from the Headmistress. Harry didn't want anyone to know as long as it wasn't absolutely necessary; if Lucius Malfoy confirmed his worst suspicions tonight, there would be no way to keep it to himself anyway. There still was one question he had no answer for, though.

 

"Malfoy, why is your father doing this? And why did you agree to help?"

 

Draco turned to face Harry, but it was too dark to see his expression. "Second thoughts, Potter? It's a bit late for that."

 

"I'm not asking because I'm getting cold feet," Harry hissed back. "I just don't understand why –"

 

"You think that my father wants the Dark Lord to return?" Draco's tone was cold, but there was unmistakeable anger underneath. "Or that I do?"

 

The question brought back memories of the emotions mirrored in Lucius Malfoy's face when Voldemort had told him that Draco's death would be his punishment. "No, I just –"

 

"Then shut up and come on." Draco turned away and quickened his pace, and Harry, seething, had no choice but to follow him.

 

He kept one hand over his trouser pocket, making sure that the little glass bottle was still safe there. The concept of allowing Lucius Malfoy a glimpse into his mind was revolting enough, but there were a few things that Harry would never let him see even if his life depended on it. Therefore, he'd spent most of the evening carefully extracting very specific memories and storing them in the bottle. Every dream he could still recall that had featured a flash of blond was now hidden away there, although Harry had to live with the uncertainty whether there were dreams he no longer remembered lost somewhere in his subconscious. It had been particularly tricky to separate the memory of Greyback's death from the events right afterwards – the former was probably crucial for determining whether Voldemort's soul wasn't completely gone, while Harry would _never_ allow Lucius Malfoy to see the latter.

 

Now that he thought about it, Harry found it strange that Draco didn't seem worried about his father seeing that particular incident, since he doubted Lucius would be thrilled to find out about Draco's role in it. With a sudden flicker of malice, he asked, "If there's anything I know about you that you'd rather not want your father to see, Malfoy, now's the time to tell me."

 

It was a lie, of course; it was much too late to do anything about it now, but Harry couldn't help being curious about Draco's reaction.

 

Draco stopped in front of a heavy wooden door and raised his wand. " _Necrotelicomnicon_!"

 

The door sprang open, light spilling into the corridor. Draco turned towards Harry, and Harry recognised the familiar sneer on his face when he said, "There's nothing you know about me that I need to hide from my father. Go in, they're waiting for you."

 

Bracing himself, Harry stepped over the threshold; he heard the heavy door fall shut as soon as Draco had followed him.

 

* * *

 

Harry wasn't sure whether to find the way Lucius Malfoy carried himself infuriating or impressive. The man certainly had poise; he sat in the heavy wooden chair next to the fireplace as if he were a king overlooking his dominion instead of a former Death Eater who had avoided a life sentence in Azkaban by a hair's breadth. Harry wasn't fooled, of course; he'd seen a very different Lucius Malfoy just a few months ago, and he wasn't likely to ever forget it.

 

Snape's face was glowering out of a picture frame on the mantelpiece; Harry wondered for a moment what kind of picture the frame had held while the professor had been alive. Snape indicated the second chair with a move of his head. "Sit down, Potter, there's no time to waste."

 

Harry slowly lowered himself into the chair, his eyes never leaving Lucius'. "I suppose you already know what this is about?"

 

It cost him some effort to address the man in a neutral fashion; he'd seen his cold grey eyes through the slits in a Death Eater mask while he was duelling Voldemort, had fought him in the Department of Mysteries, and Ginny had almost died because of him. There was nothing to be done about it now, though; better to focus on the memory of the Malfoys embracing their son after the battle. The realisation that even a man like Lucius Malfoy was able to act like a human being on occasion made it easier to deal with the fact that Harry needed him right now.

 

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Good evening to you too, Mr Potter. I have indeed been informed of what you're asking of me, and I'm willing to perform the service you require. Before we can get started, however, you will have to give me what I'm asking in return."

 

He turned towards Draco, who was still standing next to the door and seemed a bit uncertain what to do with himself. "Draco, please wait outside for a moment, there's something Mr Potter and I need to discuss in private."


	22. Chapter 22

Draco seemed reluctant, but he didn't say anything; he merely gave his father a quizzical look before he left the room.

 

"You asking for something in return wasn't part of the deal," Harry said immediately once Draco had closed the heavy wooden door behind him; he was determined to make it clear that Lucius wasn't the one in control here.

 

"There is no 'deal' as of yet, Mr Potter," Lucius reminded him coolly. "I suppose you are under the impression that I'll willingly do anything you ask of me to ingratiate myself with you, but I'm afraid I know better than to put any trust in your gratitude."

 

Harry couldn't help it that his hands clenched into fists. "Some would say that the fact that I didn't ask the Ministry for your head on a platter should be reason enough for _you_ to be grateful."

 

Lucius shrugged; if the thinly veiled threat worried him, he was doing a good job of not showing it. "Since you most definitely didn't do it for my sake, I'd say the point is moot. As I see it, right now you want something that only I can provide, and you must want it desperately if you could bring yourself to ask _me_ of all people. It would be foolish of me not to take advantage of that situation, since I doubt another opportunity like this is going to present itself in the near future."

 

"And if I refuse?"

 

"Then I'm going to leave, Mr Potter, and you can try to find someone else who knew the Dark Lord well enough to help you out. Are you going to dismiss my demand out of hand, or are you at least willing to hear it?"

 

Harry realised this was getting them nowhere. It irked him deeply that Lucius had a point; he was sorely tempted to get up and walk out, but there really was nobody else who would be able to give him the answers he needed. "All right, what do you want?"

 

"Severus informed me that you want me to swear an Unbreakable Vow never to disclose anything I learn from you tonight and never to act based upon this information either. Is that correct?"

 

Harry merely nodded, and Lucius continued, "Such a vow is no small matter, but I'm willing to swear it in return for _your_ Unbreakable Vow to look out for my son."

 

Whatever Harry had expected, that definitely wasn't it. "To look out for him? What's that supposed to mean?"

 

For the first time since he'd entered, a flicker of emotion shone through Lucius' carefully feigned indifference. "Whatever is necessary – protect him, watch over him, stand by him if he has need of you. Believe me," he added with a smile that had no humour in it, "I know perfectly well that you loathe him. I'm not asking you to change your opinion of him, because I couldn't care less what you think of my son. All I'm asking is that you will do everything you can to keep him safe."

 

Harry still wasn't over his initial bafflement. "From what? He's not in danger!"

 

"Perhaps not right now," Lucius answered with a small frown. "At the moment, everyone seems hell-bent on putting the past behind them, and the Ministry is happy to let things lie without raising any more trouble. But I have no doubt that there will come a time when they're howling for blood again, and Draco's family name will always make him a possible target."

 

"And whose fault is that?" Harry's patience was wearing thin, and it gave him some satisfaction to see how Lucius' calm mask slipped a bit.

 

"I'm fully aware that it is because of choices I made in the past that my son might be in danger again one day. I can't change the past, though; I can only try to keep him safe from now on."

 

Harry had a sudden flashback to the scene in the graveyard – the Death Eaters returning to their master, frightened and reluctant, grovelling at his feet and begging for his forgiveness. "You never really thought Voldemort would return, did you?"

 

Lucius hesitated briefly, but then he shook his head. "I didn't. I would have prepared my son better for it if I'd considered it possible."

 

It wasn't lost on Harry that Lucius didn't elaborate on how he would have "prepared" Draco for Voldemort's return, but he decided to let it lie. "So are you going to help me make sure he doesn't come back again?"

"You heard me before, Mr Potter. Promise me that Draco will always have you to speak for him if the need should arise, and I will help you."

 

Harry wasn't thrilled by the idea, but he couldn't quite bring himself to blame a father for using all means to protect his son – not even if the father in question was Lucius Malfoy. The memory of Dumbledore's offer to Draco flashed through his mind, and how Draco had refused to let go of Goyle in the burning Room of Requirement. He still heartily disliked the little git, but there was no denying the fact that he'd already considered him worth saving once.

 

"Interesting that you're not asking me to do the same for you."

 

Lucius smiled thinly. "It is never wise to demand the impossible in any kind of negotiation."

 

Harry fell silent for a moment, thinking furiously. It would have been easy to laugh into Lucius' face if he'd tried to curry favour with Harry for himself; by asking for something that was not completely out of the question, however, he had made it much harder to refuse his request.

 

Besides, it wasn't as if Harry had much of a choice. "All right, I'll swear the damned vow."

 

He was sure it wasn't just his imagination that Lucius' shoulders sagged a bit as if in relief. "Then we are agreed – in return for my help and my silence, you will do everything in your power to protect my son against any threat he might face because of who he is, for as long as you both live."

 

Sighing inwardly at the prospect of a future that now might never be completely Malfoy-free, Harry nodded. "I will."

 

* * *

 

Lucius' skin was cool and dry, but Harry still felt a flash of revulsion as if he were forced to hold on to something slimy and poisonous. The tip of Draco's wand was placed on their linked hands, and he seemed to avoid looking either at his father or at Harry.

 

Harry barely spared him a glance; he kept his eyes firmly on Lucius' face. He'd spent hours on the exact wording of the vow he was going to ask of Lucius, so he couldn't afford getting distracted now. "Will you, Lucius Malfoy, do your best to help me find the truth about what's going on with me, keep silent about anything you will learn by doing so, and never act upon that knowledge for as long as you live?"

 

"I will," Lucius replied without hesitation. A thin tongue of flame shot out from Draco's wand and wound itself around their linked hands, glowing like a chain of molten metal. Harry expected it to feel hot, or at least warm, against his skin, but there was nothing but a faint prickling sensation.

 

Lucius' eyes flickered in Draco's direction for a second when he asked, "Will you, Harry Potter, do everything you promised me before, to the best of your ability and for as long as you live?"

 

Draco frowned; it was obvious that he hadn't expected his father to keep his part of the deal a secret from him. Harry took a deep breath, steeling himself. "I will."

 

Another thread of flame joined the first one, the two of them intertwining around Lucius and Harry's clasped hands. Draco withdrew his wand, and the flames dissolved into thin air; only the prickling sensation remained behind. "It is done."

 

Harry immediately let go of Lucius' hand and resisted the urge to wipe his palm on his robes.

 

Lucius gave Draco a brief nod, as if acknowledging a job well done. "Thank you, Draco; you may leave now. I don't need to remind you not to mention this to anyone, do I?"

 

"Of course not, Father." Draco gave Harry a strange look before he marched out, closing the door with a little more force than was strictly necessary.

 

"About time," Snape growled from his picture frame. "Can we now get this over with?"

 

* * *

 

It cost Harry all of his willpower not to flinch when Lucius pointed his wand at him. _Pull yourself together, for God's sake. You were able to face Voldemort hitting you with the Killing Curse less than a year ago!_

 

"To make one thing clear before we begin," Lucius stated in a businesslike manner, "my Occlumency is second to none, but I'm not that much of a Legilimens. If you want me to look for the Dark Lord's presence in your mind, you will have to let me in; I'll accomplish nothing if I waste my time breaking down barriers in your head."

 

Harry gritted his teeth. Best not to think about the fact that he was allowing Lucius Malfoy a look into his most personal thoughts and memories – well, most of them, at least – and focus on what had to be done. "Fine, I'm ready."

 

Lucius raised his wand until the tip was almost touching the scar on Harry's forehead. " _Legilimens_!"

 

Images flooded Harry's mind, and he was dimly aware of Lucius' presence among them, taking them all in with almost greedy interest, looking, probing, digging deeper – he was at the Department of Mysteries, and Voldemort was trying to get at the prophecy, but it had been smashed, and yet there it was, etched into his memory, and he could feel Lucius stopping short and listening to something that might have changed history if he'd heard it three years ago...

 

He was back at the Chamber of Secrets, and the black-haired boy from his dream was smiling at him with eyes like chips of ice, and Harry no longer knew how he could not have recognised him. Ginny was lying on the floor, but now she was standing in front of him, angry tears in her eyes and her face cold and shuttered... it was Draco on the floor instead, in a puddle of his own blood, and Snape was next to him – no, it was Snape on the floor now, his memories oozing from his brain as his eyes glazed over...

 

And he was listening to Dumbledore, telling Snape that Harry must die, telling Harry about the secret of his mother's sacrifice in his blood, about the Deathly Hallows and the legacy that came with them – for a moment he felt as if Lucius were chuckling inside his head, laughing at a joke Harry had missed – and why all his suffering had been necessary to make Voldemort destroy himself in the end.

 

He felt the power of the Killing Curse rush through him, felt Fenrir's life seep through his fingers, felt Luna arching up underneath him as the burning desire for something he had no name for raged inside him – and without conscious thought, Harry threw everything he could into Lucius' path, stopping him from prying further because he would not, _could_ not let him see this –

 

Then Luna was beside him, holding his hand while he watched himself march into the dark forest, alone with no ghosts leading the way. Dumbledore was watching him too, that strange look of triumph on his face, his hand blackened and shrivelled and yet holding on to the Elder Wand as if it were a natural part of his body.

 

And still there was more, images and sounds and smells all coming together into one great rush of memories, and he could feel Lucius slowly making his way through them, searching, probing, stopping here and there to take a closer look, then moving on again. Harry tried to stop thinking at all, to forget about the violating presence in his head and just let his memories flow freely. Lucius wasn't Voldemort; he had no control over him, but was merely a means to an end. It didn't make the whole procedure any less revolting, but Harry knew well enough that there was no other way, so he clenched his teeth, held on to the armrests of the chair until his knuckles turned white, and willed his conscious thoughts far away while Lucius kept sifting through his mind.

 

* * *

 

Harry had lost all sense of time; he couldn't have said if ten minutes or three hours had passed when Lucius finally lowered his wand. He slowly leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowed, and fixed Harry with a look that was a mixture of amusement and disdain.

 

"Dumbledore made you believe that you were a _Horcrux_?"

 

Something in his tone made Harry bristle, but he managed to remain calm. "So you know what a Horcrux is?"

 

Now Lucius' expression turned condescending. "I've been studying Dark Magic since my childhood, Mr Potter. Of course I know what a Horcrux is."

 

"I bet you didn't know that Voldemort used them, though," Harry shot back, desperate to wipe the superior expression off Lucius' face. "You'd hardly have slipped Ginny his diary otherwise, eh?"

 

Lucius' lips thinned. "I didn't know, no. I do know, however, that the notion that you might have been one is perfectly ridiculous."

 

"Well, I –" Harry hesitated, trying to find the right words. He had done quite a bit of thinking about that topic lately, but some of the conclusions he'd been forced to draw still didn't make sense. "Probably not in the, um... technical sense, because I suppose that would have made me pretty much invulnerable to all magic. But Dumbledore explained to me that Voldemort didn't _mean_ to put a piece of his soul in me, it just happened when his curse backfired because –"

 

"Because of your mother's great and noble sacrifice, yes, I'm aware of that," Lucius interrupted him with a hint of impatience, and Harry was once more forcefully reminded of the events in the graveyard on the night of Voldemort's return. "This may come as a shock to you, but the fact that a foolish old man believed something doesn't necessarily make it true. Something either is a Horcrux or it isn't, there really is no middle ground. Splitting your soul and binding part of it to an object is Dark Magic at its most difficult; you can't do it by accident."

 

Lucius turned his head to give Snape's portrait an almost pitying look. " _You_ fell for this, Severus? I always knew that Dumbledore didn't understand the nature of Dark Magic, but it's sad to see that you too never managed to grasp it fully."

 

Snape grimaced in a way that made him look as if he wanted to bite. "You mean, how could a poor half-blood fraud like me ever have aspired to rise to your exalted level? Need I remind you, you inbred pureblood snob, that the Dark Lord was a half-blood too?"

 

"Indeed he was," Lucius replied softly, his voice dripping venom, "and look what became of him in the end."

 

When he turned back to Harry, who had watched the exchange with a growing feeling of impatience, his tone was businesslike again. "There's always a price to pay when you use Dark Magic, and with Horcruxes, most practitioners of the Art would consider the price too high; that's why they're so rare. You can't unintentionally create a Horcrux, and I've never heard of a sentient creature being used as one. Animals, yes, but a self-aware mind has a way of fighting back. You can possess it if you're strong enough, but your own awareness needs to be present all the time to keep your host from pushing you out. You can't just put a bit of your soul into another sentient being and be done with it."

 

"Voldemort couldn't possess me when he tried," Harry interrupted him. "Dumbledore said –"

 

Lucius held up a hand, silencing him. "Spare me. I just saw it for myself, remember? Since the Dark Lord found himself unable to possess you even for a matter of minutes, how could you ever have believed that a piece of his soul might have survived inside you all those years?"

 

Harry stared at him, completely at a loss. "What are you saying? There were times when I could feel him constantly, in my mind, my dreams –"

 

"It's quite intriguing, really," Lucius cut him off with a hint of the drawl that reminded Harry so much of Draco at his most insufferable that it made his fists itch. "I would never have thought I'd say this, but after this little tour through your brain I'm beginning to understand what the Dark Lord saw in you when he decided to 'mark you as his equal', as your half-demented Divination teacher put it. There's a surprising amount of darkness inside you, Mr Potter; certainly more than anyone would expect from Dumbledore's champion. What I did not find in your mind, however, is any trace of the Dark Lord's presence."

 

Deep down, Harry had been so convinced he was going to hear his worst fears confirmed that it took a moment for this statement to sink in. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and then slowly released a breath he'd been holding without realising it.

 

"You mean his soul is completely gone from mine?"

 

Lucius shook his head. "No, I mean it was never there in the first place." He reached out as if to touch Harry's scar, but withdrew his hand immediately when Harry flinched back. "You shared a connection with the Dark Lord, Mr Potter, and you'll bear the mark of it until your dying day, but I sincerely doubt there ever was a part of him living inside you."


	23. Chapter 23

Harry stared at Lucius, utterly dumb-struck. His mind seemed to have gone blank; all he finally got out was a faint, " _What_?"

 

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "You heard me. Your precious soul is yours alone – and has always been, from what I can tell."

 

"But I –" Harry had trouble coming up with a coherent response; a part of him insisted that he was going to wake up any moment and shake his head at the odd dream he'd had. "I could feel him, right there in my head! I saw through his eyes, I – I was there, wherever he was, time and again!" He took a deep breath, struggling to calm down. "And I still have his abilities – I can speak Parseltongue, I _enjoyed_ killing Greyback, I –"

 

"The latter is hardly remarkable," Lucius cut him off. "Power over life and death is a heady thing, and you certainly aren't the first man who ever got a thrill out of wielding it. This is no sign of a Dark Lord, Mr Potter, it's basic human nature."

 

That brought Harry up short; he almost welcomed the sudden spike of anger that made it easier to focus. "I do _not_ get off on killing! Your kind may be used to that –"

 

" _My_ _kind_?" Lucius interrupted him again, his tone scathing. For a second, he seemed about to lose his temper, but he quickly reined himself in. "Listen, I'm not here to get into a round of childish name-calling with you. If you don't want to hear what I have to say, just tell me, and I'll gladly leave this instant."

 

Harry just glared at him in return, but a harsh, humourless guffaw came from Snape's portrait on the mantelpiece. "You shouldn't be surprised that Potter is flying in your face, Lucius. The notion that he's not sainthood incarnate is probably too much to grasp for him, and Gryffindors are prone to react with aggression to everything that's beyond their comprehension."

 

The corner of Lucius' mouth twitched. "I'm well aware of that, Severus. It is of no consequence right now, though. Mr Potter, do you want me to continue or not?"

 

Harry would have loved to spit his smugness right back into his face, but there was no getting around the fact that he needed answers – answers that only Lucius could give him. It took him a moment to school his expression into something that hopefully looked like haughty indifference; at last, he nodded curtly.

 

"Very well then," Lucius said without missing a beat, "where was I? Ah yes, your 'abilities' which you think you got from the Dark Lord. The Parseltongue is indeed peculiar – it's a very rare gift, and it would be hard to explain how you could have ended up with it without the Dark Lord's interference if it weren't for the fact that you are distantly related to him. At least, that's what your memories indicate –?"

 

This time Harry hesitated for a moment before he slowly nodded again; somehow, his discovery that he was descended from the youngest Peverell brother had never led him to the realisation that this made him a, however distant, relative of Tom Riddle. Now that Lucius had mentioned it, it seemed completely obvious, but he'd never thought of it before.

 

Lucius seemed greatly amused, as if he were appreciating a joke that had gone over Harry's head. "Ironic, isn't it? You, the embodiment of all things Gryffindor, turn out to be another heir of Slytherin. It explains how you were able to get into the Chamber of Secrets six years ago; I've been wondering about that ever since."

 

Noticing Harry's wide-eyed stare, he added, "I take it this is news to you? The Peverell brothers, Mr Potter, were always rumoured to have been descendants of Salazar Slytherin. All three of them were extraordinarily powerful and skilled wizards, which probably explains the fact that the legend of the Deathly Hallows was later connected to them. I admit that I didn't know much about the Dark Lord's family until now, since he didn't take it well if someone tried to nose around in his past, but your memories have been most enlightening in that regard. He always took pride in being Slytherin's heir, although he never mentioned the details of his lineage. If he indeed hailed from the Peverells, then his claim was most likely valid – and like him, the fact that a Peverell was your ancestor makes you Salazar Slytherin's descendant. Knowing that, the fact that you can speak Parseltongue isn't that surprising any more."

 

Lucius paused for a moment, as if to debate something with himself. "It's still a bit of a coincidence that it would resurface in you of all people, but then, it wouldn't surprise me if past members of your family had been Parselmouths as well and had hidden it all their lives. It's considered the mark of a Dark wizard, after all." There was a hint of mockery in his tone at the last sentence.

 

"But –" Harry said the first thing that came to his mind, since he found it impossible to process all this at once. "Voldemort always said he was Slytherin's last heir! If I'm really another one, then there should be others too, shouldn't there? I mean, if the three brothers had children, and their children too and so on..."

 

"Yes, of course," Lucius admitted. "To be honest, I always considered the Dark Lord's claim to be Slytherin's _only_ descendant a bit far-fetched. I'd wager that most pureblood families could trace a branch of their family tree back to him, if they had records that went back a millennium. I'm not aware of any wizarding family who does, though, so at least there is no other _known_ descendant of Slytherin alive right now."

 

Harry didn't reply; he was remembering the day of his Sorting, and how the Sorting Hat had wanted to put him in Slytherin. Had that been the reason – that the hat had somehow noticed that Salazar Slytherin had been his ancestor? It was not a comforting thought, but it was still less revolting than thinking that the hat might have sensed Voldemort's soul inside him.

 

"Harry Potter, heir of Slytherin. What has the House of the Serpent come to?" Harry didn't look at Snape's portrait, but he didn't have to; he could _hear_ the sneer from Snape's tone.

 

Lucius didn't turn his head either, but it was obvious that his answer was directed at Snape. "I've been saying for a long time that we've let our standards slip." It wasn't quite clear whether he had meant to insult Harry, Snape, or both with that remark. Snape made a sound deep in his throat that reminded Harry of a growling dog, but apart from that, he kept quiet.

 

"So," Harry began, "what you're saying is that this... darkness... you saw in me is because I'm Slytherin's descendant?"

 

Lucius rolled his eyes, but Snape spoke up before he could answer. "Isn't he precious, Lucius? Now that you've forced him to let go of one excuse, he has already found another!"

 

"Indeed," Lucius replied slowly. "Mr Potter, I'm most reluctant to disappoint you again, but Salazar Slytherin is even less responsible for anything you are or do than the Dark Lord ever was."

 

Harry's head snapped up at this. "Then Voldemort _is_ at least partly responsible?"

 

Lucius sighed. "I must say that I have never met anyone who was more eager not to be in control of his own life. Dumbledore has taught you well, it seems."

 

"You leave Dumbledore out of this." Harry was surprised by the sound of his own voice; he hadn't even been aware he could sound this cold and menacing.

 

"I'm afraid that won't be entirely possible," Lucius shot back, apparently unfazed. "But let me answer your question first. You shared a connection with the Dark Lord because of the curse that failed to kill you, and the mark it left you with. I'm not entirely sure how deep this connection went, but I don't think it was strong enough to significantly change your character. Perhaps it may have strengthened certain talents or character traits that you have, but I'm sure it could only bring out things that were there inside you in the first place. Maybe that's what the blasted Prophecy was talking about – at least, it's the only explanation that makes sense to me."

 

"I don't believe it," Harry said resolutely, even though he mostly did it to silence the nagging doubts at the back of his brain. "Dumbledore told me that Voldemort gave me all these powers –"

 

Lucius smiled thinly. "Yes, Dumbledore was probably careful not to let on that these might be your talents, not the Dark Lord's. He needed you to grow into your enemy's antithesis in order to achieve the goal he had in mind for you, so it wouldn't have been wise to let you know just how much alike you and the Dark Lord were in some regards. It seems to me that in the end, it was Dumbledore, not the Dark Lord, who shaped you to fit the Prophecy – he had the stammering of a half-demented seer and raised you to fit it."

 

Harry fell silent for a moment, biting his lower lip without noticing it. "How can you be so sure?" he asked at last. "You said that there was a connection, and that it influenced me. Why can't it have made me into something I wouldn't have been otherwise?"

 

Lucius was still smiling, but now there was a hint of an underlying emotion to it that Harry couldn't identify. "A small child's mind and soul are malleable to a certain degree, but there are limits. You can influence someone's development, but you can't make him into something he's not. No, Mr Potter," he added in a completely different, much firmer tone, "if the Dark Lord ever gave you something, that also means you took it. If he was able to teach you anything, then only because you were eager to learn."

 

Harry looked away, his mind racing; there was still something missing. "But after he got his body back, the connection became much more than just –"

 

"Ah yes," Lucius interrupted, "now we're getting to the crucial part. You do remember the means by which the Dark Lord managed to rise again, don't you?"

 

Harry was speechless for a moment; he had trouble believing that he'd heard that correctly. It was suddenly easy to imagine how Lucius had been able to fool the whole Ministry about his true loyalties after the First War – a man who could ask Harry such a question with a completely straight face, after having witnessed the very event he was talking about from behind a Death Eater mask, was capable of _any_ kind of deceit if he set his mind to it.

 

"Yes, of course I remember," he replied at last, his voice trembling with barely repressed fury. "I was there, in case you've forgotten. So were you, and I assure you I have not forgotten _that_." He waited for Lucius to show any reaction, but no such luck. "I suppose this is about Voldemort using my blood to create a new body for himself?"

 

"Indeed," Lucius answered. "Dumbledore seemed very interested in that too, didn't he?"

 

"He said – " Harry began, but Lucius cut him off with a sharp gesture.

 

"Let me finish first, Mr Potter. Blood magic is one of the oldest and most powerful kinds of magic known to wizardkind. It is considered Dark Magic nowadays, although there is nothing dark to it as long as the blood has been given willingly. However, most wizards are reluctant to use even that because of the power it unleashes."

 

Harry glared at him; he felt as if he could still feel Wormtail's knife biting into his flesh. " _Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken_ , remember? Does that mean the fact that he took my blood against my will made the magic stronger?"

 

"That's what he thought, at least, and it's likely that he was correct," Lucius replied softly. "There's more to blood magic than just raw power, though. By its very nature, it creates a link – and I thought even then that one had to be supremely confident or supremely desperate to risk a blood bond with one's worst enemy. It was _your_ blood that allowed him to return, so the balance within the link was tilted in your favour from the beginning."

 

That gave Harry pause; he clearly remembered the look of triumph in Dumbledore's eyes when the he had heard about the blood ritual, although Harry had understood it only much later. "Dumbledore said something along those lines too."

 

Lucius shrugged. "I doubt he really grasped the way blood magic works, though. For him, it was all about Lily Potter's great and tragic sacrifice."

 

"And you think that's not true?" Harry felt his hackles rise again; this was one thing he wouldn't let Lucius take from him. "If it wasn't my mother's sacrifice that protected me when he cast the Killing Curse at me – the second time, I mean..."

 

"Then why wasn't he able to kill you?" Lucius finished the question for him. "I would have thought you'd have realised that by now, Mr Potter. The Dark Lord wasn't able to kill you because the curse he hit you with had been cast with a wand _you_ were the master of."

 

Harry blinked in surprise; he'd completely forgotten about that. "I – yes, I suppose that's true, but that can't be the reason. Dumbledore explained it to me; it was all about mastering death, which was the one thing Voldemort had never managed. Dumbledore said that it was necessary I accepted the idea of dying..."

 

Lucius made a face that was a mixture of contempt and – pity? "I bet it was, because there was a very real chance that you _would_ die. If the Dark Lord hadn't used the Elder Wand against you, his curse would have killed you."

 

"And if your wife hadn't betrayed him, he could still have killed me afterwards?" Harry snapped. "Is that what you're saying? Didn't you listen to anything I told Voldemort in the Great Hall? Oh, sorry, I forgot you were too busy looking for your coward of a son to care about your precious Dark Lord!"

 

Lucius' expression turned stony; there was deep silence for a while. At last, Lucius raised his wand and pointed it straight at Harry. "Let me see Dumbledore's explanation again. _Legilimens_!"

 

Harry had barely time to brace himself before the scene in the place that looked like King's Cross Station began replaying itself in his mind – the feeling of utter peace and contentment, Dumbledore's kind old face smiling at him while his eyes were filled with sadness and regret... Voldemort's mangled soul, gone beyond redemption... and the pieces of the puzzle falling into place and, for one glorious moment, finally making perfect sense...

 

He was almost sorry when he snapped out of it as Lucius lowered his wand. The fingers of Lucius' left hand were tapping the armrest of his chair; he seemed deep in thought. "I find it highly unlikely that you were able to come up with a hallucination with that kind of detail, so let's assume it was really Dumbledore you saw. It certainly sounded like him – half of what he told you appeared more like guesswork than sound magical theory."

 

He paused for a moment, as if to organise his thoughts. "First of all, you need to understand this, Mr Potter: Dark Magic is by its very nature unpredictable, and you have to be willing to take great risks in order to use it successfully. It's a concept that your side has never really grasped – apparently it takes _my kind_ , as you put it, to understand and appreciate the intricacies of it. You need to grow up with it, grow _into_ it, and learn to use it without ever overstepping your boundaries. The Dark Lord could never accept that; he always tried to reach beyond the limits, the limits of his power, his body, his whole mortal existence, and that's what finally destroyed him. Dumbledore's theory of embracing death in order to master it is very inspiring, but unfortunately also irrelevant when it comes to the Dark Lord. All you can achieve by accepting death is dying, and that comes all by itself eventually whether you accept it or not."

 

"So you're saying that Dumbledore was wrong about the Deathly Hallows?" Harry asked, irked by the casual way in which Lucius had brushed aside the fact that Harry had been willing to sacrifice his life.

 

Lucius made a face. "The Deathly Hallows are an old wives' tale, Mr Potter. Oh, they're three very powerful magical objects, none of them more so than the Death Stick, but that's all there is to them. I can see how the story might have excited two impressionable young men with more raw power and less reason than was good for either of them, but I don't understand how Dumbledore managed to hold on to such a childish fancy for all these years. The conclusions he drew from it are mind-boggling, to say the least."

 

He gave Harry a look that was a pale ghost of his usual sneer; something seemed to have got to him. "I may have been... preoccupied... when you faced the Dark Lord at Hogwarts, but I still heard you tell him that he needed to – what were your exact words? Try for some remorse?"

 

"So?" Harry shot back. "That wasn't because of anything Dumbledore had said. Hermione found out that the only way to unmake a Horcrux and put yourself back together was remorse – regretting what you'd done when you split your soul..."

 

"Ah, I must have overlooked that bit." Lucius had found his countenance again. "And she got it from..."

 

"A book that – that had belonged to Dumbledore," Harry said slowly, not liking where this was going.

 

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Forgive me if I'm not surprised, Mr Potter. This just goes to prove further that Gryffindors shouldn't be allowed to meddle with Dark Magic, since they will never be able to understand what it is they're trying to handle. I've been wondering what had got into you back then, but now I'm sorry to inform you that it wouldn't have made a difference if you'd really got the Dark Lord to feel remorse, even if I can't imagine how you would have achieved that. A Horcrux is created by killing someone, and that can't be reversed, no matter how much you regret it. Therefore, you can't unmake a Horcrux any more than you can undo death."

 

Harry felt his throat close up; he couldn't help remembering how he'd fallen for the illusions the Resurrection Stone had created. Echo and shadow, shadow and echo...

 

"This brings us right back to Dumbledore's obsession with death, doesn't it?" Lucius gave Harry a quizzical look. "Are you still convinced that you are the 'master of death', whatever that is supposed to be, after everything I told you?"

 

"I have no idea what to think any more." It came out as a hoarse whisper, and Harry had to take a deep breath before he could continue. "There's one thing I'm sure of, though – the fact that I was willing to let Voldemort kill me _did_ protect those on my side in the final battle, so there must be something to Dumbledore's ideas. None of you managed to harm us, did you?"

 

Lucius sighed. "Name just one person from your side who got hit by a Killing Curse and survived during that battle."

 

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again; he was sure he'd seen it happen, but he couldn't for the life of him remember...

 

Lucius smiled thinly. "I thought so. The fact that none of you was hurt had nothing to do with any noble sacrifices you made, it was likely due to the fact that the Dark Lord's supporters panicked after his fall – I don't think any of them had expected it to happen, and before they could get their wits together and aim properly, they had already been overpowered."

 

His voice softened when he continued. "It worked for your mother because she cast her life in the way of death coming towards you. This isn't something you can arrange in advance or reproduce at your convenience – quite apart from the fact that you never died for anyone in the first place, so the point is moot. Thousands of people are willing to lay down their lives for their loved ones, Mr Potter, and it doesn't change a thing."

 

There was an almost wistful expression on his face for a second, and Harry couldn't help remembering the moment when he'd seen him and his wife clutch their son to them as if they never wanted to let go again.

 

He was startled out of his thoughts by the sound of a familiar, yet utterly unexpected voice.

 

"Harry, my dear boy, Severus told me you would want to see me?"


	24. Chapter 24

Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling merrily behind his half-moon glasses as he smiled out of the small picture frame that Snape had vacated without Harry noticing it. If he was surprised to see Lucius Malfoy at Hogwarts, he wasn't showing it; he merely gave him a polite nod and asked serenely, "Trying to undo past mistakes, Lucius?"

 

Lucius rose swiftly from his chair and faced the portrait. "Yes, but not necessarily mine."

 

"Interesting." Dumbledore chuckled, as if he'd just heard a particularly witty joke. "I couldn't help overhearing what you said about the Battle of Hogwarts... forgive me if my memory fails me, but weren't most of your brethren overpowered _before_ Voldemort fell? It seems to me that they panicked well before their Lord's downfall when they met much fiercer resistance than they'd anticipated..."

 

Harry perked up at this, hoping that Dumbledore would now contradict Lucius' dismissal of the idea that Harry's willingness to die had protected his side. Yet all that Dumbledore added with another chuckle was, "It's hardly surprising – fighting in the open against a strong opponent wasn't your lot's usual style, was it?"

 

Lucius' jaw clenched. He looked livid, but he didn't reply; there seemed to be nothing he thought he could say in response. Harry felt his own anger rising, an icy, focussed kind of fury that made him want to draw in on himself like a snake coiling back before it strikes. He was so sick of this, sick of everyone using him for their own ends, of being fed half-truths and veiled lies, of no longer knowing what to believe. Lucius didn't seem to notice; he didn't even look at Harry when he curtly said, "I think we're done here, Mr Potter."

 

Without waiting for a reply, he walked over to the fireplace and reached for the pot of Floo Powder on the mantelpiece. He was about to toss the powder into the flames when he hesitated and, looking back at Harry over his shoulder, asked, "What, no attempt at a Memory Charm? I admit that I'm a bit surprised."

 

Only now did Harry spot the drawn wand in Lucius' hand, and he found it strangely satisfying to realise that Lucius had considered it necessary to be on his guard. He felt as if his anger had condensed into a cold, hard knot in the pit of his belly, leaving his head oddly clear. His voice was calm when he replied, "I considered it, but I'd rather enjoy the thought that you know all this and can't do anything with it."

 

Lucius raised an eyebrow; he seemed to have found his composure again, because he gave Harry a tight-lipped smile. "That's the second time you've managed to surprise me tonight, Mr Potter. Perhaps you might really have done well in Slytherin after all."

 

The he turned back to the fireplace and, with a sharp "Malfoy Manor!", disappeared in a swirl of green flames.

 

* * *

 

Harry stared into the fire until the last trace of green had vanished; he only raised his head when Dumbledore's voice came from the portrait, "Harry, I heard what you were trying to do, but do you really think Lucius Malfoy was the best choice for this?"

 

"There was no one else," Harry replied tersely. "Do you think I wanted to do this? And why did Snape tell you?"

 

Dumbledore smiled. "He informed Minerva weeks ago about what you were planning and asked for her permission to help you go through with it. Did you really think Severus Snape would let Lucius Malfoy into the school without the Headmistress' knowledge? He didn't tell me, she did; he only came to fetch me now because he obviously thinks there are things we need to discuss. Lucius Malfoy – "

 

"I'm neither a child nor an idiot!" Harry snapped, cutting him off. "Do you think I don't know who Malfoy is, and that he can't be trusted? But he was the only one who could tell me what's going on with me, and I made him swear an Unbreakable Vow to help me find out the truth."

 

"Ah." Dumbledore pondered this for a moment. "Then it's probably safe to assume that he didn't lie to you about anything that directly concerned you, but Harry, keep in mind how he just demonstrated that he's only telling the truth as he wants to see it."

 

"Don't we all?" Harry asked with a hint of bitterness. "I never thought I'd see the day when I would take Lucius Malfoy's word over yours, but now..."

 

"Harry," Dumbledore interrupted him gently, "what did Lucius tell you?"

 

Harry turned his head away; he couldn't have looked at Dumbledore right now. "He's sure that there never was a part of Voldemort's soul inside me."

 

It was quiet for a while; Harry went back to staring into the fireplace until Dumbledore finally broke the silence with a simple, "I see."

 

Harry took a deep breath and faced him again. "You're not surprised, are you." He was dimly aware that this was going to be the confrontation he'd tried to avoid for so long, but he felt strangely calm about it. He was tired of running; better face the truth now and learn to live with it than living in fear of it forever. "It's true, then, that I was never a Horcrux."

 

"It's a possibility that you weren't, yes." The twinkle was gone from Dumbledore's eyes; he looked graver than Harry had ever seen him while he'd been alive. "There was never a way for me to be certain about it. He had touched your mind and soul in so many ways that nobody could have told whether he was actually living inside you or not, and it was a risk I simply could not afford to take."

 

"So you decided that he needed to kill me in order to make sure." When Dumbledore didn't answer right away, Harry added, "Out of curiosity, when did you make that decision? Right away after my parents had died? When I came to Hogwarts? Or –"

 

"A few months after your parents' deaths." Dumbledore's voice had hardened, making him sound like a much younger man than he'd been when Harry had first met him. "That's when I began to suspect that he'd been making Horcruxes. I never doubted that he would be back, and I knew that he would never be truly gone until all the pieces of his soul were destroyed."

 

"Including the one inside me, that you weren't even sure was there." Harry felt very cold all of a sudden, and he had to fight the urge to pull his knees up to his chest. "Did you already know back then that there was a chance I might survive?"

 

"No." Now Dumbledore didn't sound quite so determined any more, but he didn't hesitate when he continued, "The first small chance I saw of that was when he used your blood to return. Until then, I was convinced that I would inevitably send you to your death one day."

 

It was strange, Harry mused – he'd suspected this for so long, had avoided Dumbledore's portrait because he'd been afraid of having his suspicions confirmed, but now that he'd actually heard Dumbledore admit it, all he felt was relief. No matter how harsh the truth was, at least the years of being kept in the dark were finally over.

 

"A _small_ chance? You didn't say that the last time we talked about this." There was no accusation in his tone; he just wanted to _know_.

 

Dumbledore sighed. "Harry, the link you and Voldemort shared was unique; I couldn't be certain of anything that might happen. There was no way for me to foresee whether the blood connection would really protect you if he tried to kill you – I hoped with all my heart that it would be so, but I didn't know for sure. I _was_ sure, however, that because of that very same blood connection Voldemort would not survive killing you."

 

"Because the balance within the connection was tilted in my favour?"

 

Dumbledore paused, clearly surprised by the interruption. "What makes you think so?"

 

Harry shrugged. "Malfoy told me, and it seems you agree."

 

A little smile tugged at the corners of Dumbledore's lips and was quickly gone again. "There are a few things even Lucius Malfoy and I agree on, Harry."

 

Harry remembered Lucius' words about how Dumbledore had never understood blood magic, but he didn't mention them. "It was a win-win situation for you, then."

 

Dumbledore's expression darkened. "I would hardly call it that, given that your life was at stake. Either he would end up only killing the part of his soul inside you, and you would live – or he would manage to kill you and destroy himself by doing so."

 

Harry pondered this for a while. "It makes sense, I suppose," he said at last, "but – if it was all about him killing me, why was it so important that I went to my death willingly? Why didn't you just tell Snape to tie me up and hand me over to him?" The eerie calmness he'd felt earlier was beginning to waver as he remembered the silent horror of his lonely march towards death. "Why the message in Snape's memory, why the charade with the Resurrection Stone and all that just to make me _choose_ death? Until now I thought that it was good for something, that it helped us win the final battle, but after what Malfoy told me –"

 

Dumbledore sighed again; he suddenly looked once more like the worn old man he'd been during the last years of his life. "Because I had to make sure that you would _lose_."

 

At Harry's uncomprehending stare, he added, "You're far more powerful than you realise, Harry, and I couldn't take the risk that you would beat him. I never doubted that, if you didn't go to meet your death by your own free will, you would do everything you could to fight him – and there was a good chance that you would win."

 

"How would that have been bad?" The knot of cold fury was back in Harry's belly now, and he barely kept his voice from getting louder. "Why didn't you let me face him in a fight instead of – of making me offer myself for slaughter?"

 

"Harry, listen to what I'm saying! If you had been a Horcrux, and you had killed him in a duel, the piece of his soul inside you would have survived!" Dumbledore sounded very urgent, as if it were utterly important that Harry understood. "He had already touched you, influenced you, tainted you, to the point where I couldn't tell any longer where your mind ended and his began – if you had destroyed him and then lived on with the last surviving part of him inside you, it would sooner or later have taken hold within your own soul."

 

"And turned me into something like him in the long run, you mean." Had it really just been a few hours since Harry had feared the same thing himself? It seemed much longer somehow. "So you decided to have me put down to be on the safe side."

 

Dumbledore's shoulders slumped. He took a deep breath, which seemed strangely out of place for a portrait, and nodded slowly. "I was, however, eternally grateful when it turned out that it hadn't been necessary."

 

"And then," Harry continued haltingly, feeling like a blind man who tried to make his way through an unfamiliar room, "when you – came to talk to me in that place afterwards, you tried to make it sound as if you'd known from the beginning that I would survive."

 

Dumbledore lowered his gaze; when he spoke, his voice was tinged with regret. "Even in death, you are my weakness, Harry. I could do what I had to do, no matter how much pain and sorrow it caused me, but when the impossible had happened and you had lived through it all, I couldn't bear the thought that you would hate me for it."

 

Harry gave a curt, humourless laugh. "So you convinced me instead that I was some sort of worthy saviour of the world, master of death and all that stuff you told me! And I _believed_ you, and would still believe it if I hadn't had Lucius Malfoy laugh at me because of it!"

 

Dumbledore shook his head. "You are one of the bravest persons I've ever known, Harry, I didn't lie about that. But I could see how the hardships you'd been through had taken their toll on you, and how much you craved peace and rest – yet I knew that you needed to go back to finish him. I didn't have the power to send you back, so I had to give you faith that you would win. If you had chosen the peace of death then, your death would have accomplished nothing. Your death would only have destroyed Voldemort via the blood connection if he himself killed you; had you chosen to let go of life voluntarily instead, he would have lived on and might have triumphed after all."

 

Harry suddenly felt deathly tired, his anger collapsing in on itself like the charred beams of a burned-out house. "So even the bit about me having a choice wasn't true."

 

Dumbledore sounded very gentle when he replied, "It depends on whether you consider abandoning everyone who counted on you and letting him win a choice."

 

"And you knew I'd never do that."

 

"Yes," Dumbledore said simply. "And that's what the likes of Lucius Malfoy will never understand."

 

_And yet_ , a small voice that somehow reminded him of Luna spoke up at the back of Harry's mind, _nothing you just heard contradicts anything Lucius told you before._

 

"Has it never occurred to you that you might be wrong about me?" he asked at last. "You're telling me that Voldemort 'tainted' me, that the darkness inside me is all his fault, but what if it was there from the very beginning?"

 

"We all have our fair share of darkness inside us, Harry," Dumbledore replied in a tone that spoke of sorrow and regret. "The closer we get to it, the more familiar it becomes, and the more dangerous too because of that. You took a glimpse into the blackness of his mind, you saw through his eyes, felt his hate and greed, _lived_ his crimes with him through the link you shared – why do you think did I want you to learn Occlumency? I always had faith that you would be appalled, not tempted, by what you witnessed, but I still feared it might get you used to things you'd never even have considered on your own accord."

 

Harry thought back to the glorious rush of power, the flash of green light and the pure bliss that came with the feeling of an enemy's life fading into nothingness. For a fleeting moment, he wondered how it would have felt if he'd actually killed Voldemort instead of just throwing his own Killing Curse back at him.

 

"But you can't be sure."

 

"No, of course not," Dumbledore agreed gravely. "I still have faith, though."

 

Harry looked straight into the portrait's eyes and saw something there that he couldn't remember from Dumbledore's living days: fear. It was strange to realise that Dumbledore was afraid, but even stranger to think that he would never know whether Dumbledore was afraid _of_ him, of what he'd become by fulfilling his destiny, or afraid _for_ him, afraid that Harry wouldn't be able to live with the burden he'd left him with.

 

Perhaps that was how you could tell that you had left your childhood behind for good: there was no one left who held all the answers to your questions, no one who always knew what was right and what was wrong. All you were left with was yourself, and you had to find your own way through life even though you had no idea where it would take you.

 

Harry looked at Dumbledore and, for the first time, thought that he saw him for what he was: a man who had sent his followers to their deaths, endangered children in his care, lied and blackmailed and manipulated – and had saved the world through all of it.

 

At last, Harry broke the deep silence with the first thing that came to his mind. "I don't hate you."

 

Dumbledore pondered this for a moment; then he smiled. "That's good to know, Harry."

 

"This isn't about you, Professor," Harry continued, barely noticing that Dumbledore had spoken. "I understand that I could never be your first priority, I really do. But now" – he paused, trying to find words for a thought he felt forming at the back of his brain – "I finally want something to... to be about _me_."

 

When had he realised that he wouldn't get the answers he was looking for, no matter how long he listened to Dumbledore, Lucius Malfoy, or anyone else who thought he alone held the key to the truth in his hands? Ever since the night that Voldemort had failed to kill him, others had made his decisions for him, had mapped the course of his life without ever wondering whether it was the path he would have chosen for himself. He'd done his part, had fulfilled a destiny that had been forced upon him, but now it was time to put an end to it.

 

He had no idea how he'd go about it, but it would be up to _him_ to find out.

 

"Funny how everyone goes on about the Boy Who Lived, isn't it?" Harry felt strangely light-headed all of a sudden, as if he'd had one Firewhisky too many. "It seems to me it's time I actually started living, because I don't think I've ever done it before."

 

Without waiting for a reply, he got up from his chair, extinguished the flames in the fireplace with a wave of his wand and walked out of Snape's quarters without looking back. The heavy oak door fell shut behind him with a bang that echoed from the stone walls of the dungeons.

 

* * *

 

The heady, almost elated feeling quickly evaporated in the cold, clammy silence of the dark corridors. By the time Harry reached the stairway that led out of the dungeons, he was shaking. His head was swimming, and his knees seemed to be made of rubber; he couldn't have said whether he'd spent an hour or five in Snape's quarters, but now he felt tired enough to collapse on the spot. Still, he didn't even want to think of returning to his bed and leaving his mind wide open to the dreams that would surely follow an evening like this. He made it up the stairs, but then paused; instead of continuing his way to the Gryffindor dormitories, he turned and began walking along the corridor that led towards the Ravenclaw Tower.

 

It was quite a long walk until he reached the narrow door opposite the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room. He'd stayed away from it for weeks, but now he just couldn't spend the rest of the night alone in his bed.

 

The door wasn't locked, as if Luna had known that he was going to turn up on her doorstep tonight. The room inside was pitch-dark, but Harry knew his way well enough by now. The familiar sound of Luna's even breathing told him she was fast asleep, and he didn't want to disturb her. He quickly stripped to his underpants, dropping his clothes were he stood, and felt his way towards the bed.

 

Luna made a small sound when he slipped under the covers next to her; Harry had hoped that he wouldn't wake her, but when he pulled the blanket over his shoulders, she lifted her head and asked groggily, "Harry, 's that you?"

 

"Yes," Harry answered, his heart in his throat; it suddenly seemed preposterous to sneak into her bed like that after avoiding it for so long without any explanation. "I – can I stay with you tonight?"

 

"Of course," Luna replied immediately, her voice still heavy with sleepiness. "Come here –"

 

She held her arm out towards him, and Harry turned into her embrace, more grateful than he'd ever been before for the warm comfort of her touch and her simple, unquestioning friendship. She snuggled up to him and was asleep again a few seconds later. Harry nestled his head into the crook of her shoulder, listened to the sound of her slow, even breathing and welcomed the blissful oblivion that settled over him as he drifted off to sleep.


	25. Chapter 25

Harry woke at the crack of dawn from a feeling of pins and needles. It took him a moment to get his bearings and to realise that the reason for the maddening prickling in his arm was the fact that Luna was lying on it. She didn't wake up when Harry wiggled it out from under her and flexed his fingers to get the circulation going again, wincing at the sensation of a thousand ants crawling around inside his muscles. By the time the prickling subsided, he was wide awake; he couldn't have slept more than a few hours, but they had been blessedly dreamless, and he hadn't felt this well-rested in weeks. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in the familiar peppermint-patchouli smell that surrounded him and taking comfort from it as the memory of the previous night began to catch up with him.

 

He didn't let himself think about Dumbledore. This was a matter that would probably never be truly resolved for him, and pondering it now would get him nowhere. Instead, he tried to focus on the fact that he no longer needed to fear that something, or someone, might try to take over his mind and soul. The relief he expected to feel at the thought wouldn't come, though; it filled him with apprehension instead, and Harry soon felt too restless to stay in bed. He got up quietly, careful not to disturb Luna, and ducked into the tiny bathroom.

 

It made for a nice change not to need a cold shower first thing in the morning. Since it was Sunday, there was no need to hurry, and Harry spent quite a bit more time than usual in the bathroom. Luna was still asleep when he came back; Harry couldn't bring himself to wake her, yet he didn't want to go to breakfast and leave her alone like this. The idea of just sitting around and brooding held little appeal either, so Harry went over to Luna's desk to check whether she had any remotely interesting books there that would help him pass the time until she woke up.

 

There was a whole stack of books which looked surprisingly new in comparison to the ancient, leather-bound tomes that Hogwarts students usually worked with. Harry picked one up at random; it was a glossy paperback entitled _Child Psychology_ that definitely came from a Muggle bookshop. Harry blinked in surprise; he was aware of Luna's peculiar reading habits, but this was still a bit out of the ordinary. He put the book back and took another; this one was clearly magical because it had a picture of a stuffed Kneazle on the cover, and the title read _Keeping Children Curious_. Shaking his head, Harry reached for yet another book, this time a heavier volume of the leather-bound variety, although it too looked brand-new. On the cover, it said in bold golden letters, _Forget What Granny Taught You – Modern Childcare Spells for New Parents_.

 

The book hit the desktop with a thump when Harry dropped it as if it had bitten him. His mind went strangely blank for a second; then his thoughts started racing. They hadn't slept together for several weeks – but before that... no, Luna had told him there was a spell she used, and she couldn't have forgotten that or got it wrong, she was a Ravenclaw after all – and yet Luna wasn't exactly what one could call an ordinary Ravenclaw, so if she'd thought... no, she wouldn't do that, not without telling him, and she was much too honest to –

 

Harry startled violently when two arms wrapped themselves around his waist from behind and Luna's voice whispered a sleepy "Good morning" into his ear. He hadn't even heard her get up, and when he turned around, she must have noticed from his expression that something was wrong.

 

"Are you all right?" She cocked her head to the side and gave him one of her piercing stares. "You look as if a Wrackspurt had got to you!" Before Harry could answer, she had spotted the book he'd dropped on the desk, and her face lit up. "Oh, you've seen it already!"

 

Before he knew what was happening, he found himself caught in a rib-cracking embrace. "Harry, I have wonderful news!"

 

Harry slowly sank into the chair next to the desk; he hadn't meant to, but his knees were giving out. All he finally managed to reply was a rather weak, "...yes?"

 

"Yes!" Luna bent down and placed a smacking kiss on his cheek. "I've got a job! St Mungo's is opening a childcare centre for war orphans next month, and I'm going to start training as a nursery school teacher there once I've got my NEWTs!"

 

She kept on talking, but Harry didn't hear what she was saying; he felt too dizzy from the sudden rush of relief. It took Luna a while to notice that he wasn't listening, but at last she stopped nattering and gave him a worried look. "Harry, are you sure you're all right? You're as white as a sheet!"

 

Harry shook his head and tried to get a grip on himself. "Sorry, Luna, I – it's just that I saw all those books about children, and..."

 

"And?" she asked when he didn't finish, but before he could come up with a reply that wouldn't make him look like the world's greatest idiot, her jaw dropped in obvious realisation. "You thought I was _pregnant_?"

 

There was no way to deny it now, so Harry nodded reluctantly. Luna burst into a peal of laughter and sat down in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Oh, Harry, that's so like... like _you_ to think that!" She was still giggling, and although Harry was glad that she wasn't angry or upset, he was beginning to feel extremely embarrassed.

 

"Sorry," he finally mumbled without looking at her, "it was a stupid thing to think."

 

"A bit, yes," Luna conceded. "It's also rather sweet, though. Really, Harry, it's a very basic medical charm, there's no need to worry that I'll get it wrong."

 

"I haven't really thought about it before," Harry confessed. "I mean, it's not that I don't ever want children, but –"

 

"– but not while you're still at school, and not with a girl you don't love," Luna finished matter-of-factly, as if she were commenting on the weather. "That's perfectly sensible, you know."

 

"Can we just... forget I ever said anything?" Harry's cheeks were still burning, and he was desperate to change the topic. "Congratulations on the job, Luna – I'm really happy for you. I'm sure you will be great with children." He felt a small stab of envy when Luna's face split into a beaming smile at this. Why wasn't he able to muster this kind of enthusiasm for the job he'd dreamed of since he was fourteen?

 

"Thank you," she said and kissed him again, and Harry finally let himself relax into her touch. Luna held on to him for a moment and then asked gently, "There's something else on your mind, isn't there?"

 

Harry nodded again, marvelling at her ability to read him. It was strange that Luna, who always seemed to have her head in the clouds, never failed to notice when there was something wrong with him; she never pried if he didn't want to talk about it, but it was comforting to think that she always _knew_.

 

He didn't feel like telling her in detail what had happened last night, but he didn't want to brush her off either, so he finally settled on answering as vaguely as possible. "I just got answers to some questions that have bothered me for a long time, but they were... not what I expected."

 

Luna pondered this for a moment. "So you didn't learn anything new?"

 

Harry paused, considering. "Yes, I did," he finally admitted, "but in a way, it seems to me that I now know less than before."

 

"That's not necessarily a bad thing," Luna replied earnestly. "There was a Muggle who taught that it's the height of wisdom to know that you know nothing."

 

Harry frowned. "That doesn't really make sense."

 

"Oh, I'm not so sure about that," Luna said with a small shrug. "It's better to know that you know nothing than to believe something that's not true, isn't it?"

 

Harry reminded himself that this bit of wisdom came from the girl who believed in Bibbering Humdingers, but after last night, he had to concede that she might have a point. "Perhaps you're right, but I still don't know what I should do now."

 

"I think," Luna answered in a tone of authority, "that you should visit your godson."

 

"What?" Harry was used to non-sequiturs from Luna, but this still took him by surprise. "What has Teddy got to do with anything?"

 

"Perhaps nothing, but you haven't seen him in weeks." Luna ruffled Harry's hair and gave him another bright smile. "I'm sure he misses you."

 

Harry fell silent for a moment, thinking hard. He'd stopped visiting Teddy because he didn't want to come near the boy until he found out what was wrong with him – but he _had_ found out now, hadn't he? Whatever the connection with Voldemort had done to him, it was done and couldn't be changed. He would have to find a way to live with it, and he couldn't keep everyone he cared about at arm's length for the rest of his days – not unless he wanted to give Voldemort the final triumph of having ruined his life for good after all.

 

He tightened his arms around Luna's waist and finally found himself able to smile back at her. "Would you like to meet him?"

 

* * *

 

Breakfast was almost over when Harry and Luna finally entered the Great Hall; there were just a few students left at their respective house tables, and Harry spotted Ron waving at him with a piece of toast from the Gryffindor table.

 

Ron watched with a satisfied expression as Luna kissed Harry on the cheek and then went to sit with her fellow Ravenclaws while Harry sat down next to him.

 

"Looks like you've made up, eh?"

 

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked absent-mindedly while he reached for the Pumpkin Juice. "We weren't fighting."

 

Ron shrugged. "Could have fooled me. You've slept in your own bed for at least a month now; I thought you might have let slip that you don't believe in Snorkacks or something."

 

A few heads turned when Harry laughed out loud. He didn't particularly care; it felt too good to be able to laugh like this again, like a schoolboy who had no other care in the world than marks and homework and girls. For a moment, Harry could almost believe that they were truly heading back towards normality; he knew the feeling wouldn't last long, but he was determined to make the most of it while it did.

 

"We're fine, Ron, really. By the way, where's Hermione?"

 

"Three guesses," Ron sighed while he buttered another piece of toast. "Sometimes I wonder why she doesn't just move into the library." His face brightened when he continued, "Care for a game of chess after breakfast? I haven't played in weeks."

 

Harry shook his head. "Can't – I need to finish my homework before lunch; I'm going to see Teddy in the afternoon."

 

"You're not going to watch the game?" Ron sounded scandalised. At Harry's blank look, he added in a stern tone, "Hufflepuff is playing Slytherin today at three o'clock, remember?"

 

"Oh." Harry shrugged. "I'd forgotten. Sorry, Ron, but you'll have to watch it without me."

 

"You're taking this whole godfather business a bit too seriously, if you ask me," Ron grumbled. "The Hufflepuffs need every bit of support, you know."

 

Harry found himself wondering – not for the first time – if Ron was really still this enthusiastic about Quidditch or if he just used it as a distraction to take his mind off other, far more serious matters. There was no way to ask him about it, though. "You'll just have to yell a bit louder, I'm sure you'll manage."

 

"Wanker," Ron murmured under his breath, but he was grinning, and for a moment Harry allowed himself to simply enjoy seeing that expression on Ron's face again.

 

* * *

 

It was a sunny and unseasonably warm day for late March, and there was a smell of spring in the air when Harry stepped through the main gate after lunch. Luna wasn't here yet; she'd gone to get the Headmistress' permission to leave the school grounds, and McGonagall was obviously keeping her longer than expected. Harry didn't particularly mind since he could sit on the front steps and bask in the sun while he waited for her, but it seemed rather ridiculous to make such a fuss about Luna leaving Hogwarts for a few hours after everything she'd been forced to handle during the last year. Did McGonagall really think that sticking to the rules as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened would turn everything back to normal again? For the first time, he found himself wondering how the teachers dealt with having a bunch of war veterans for students, and how absurd they felt when they asked teenagers who had lived through a year of bloodshed, death and oppression to act as if school was the biggest concern they'd ever had.

 

He remembered the look McGonagall had given him when she'd heard that he'd killed Greyback, and he couldn't help thinking that she was probably looking forward to getting rid of him once the school year was over. If he was honest with himself, he didn't even blame her if she was.

 

"Trying to grow freckles, Potter? I'm sure the Weasel will lend you a few if you ask nicely."

 

Harry whipped around at the sound of the all-too-familiar drawl. Draco was standing right behind him in full Quidditch gear, clearly on his way to the pitch; he was leaning on his broomstick and shading his eyes with his hand.

 

"Aren't you a bit early, Malfoy? The game doesn't start until three, do you need that much time to come up with a convincing pep-up talk for your team?" It was a lame reply, but Harry didn't feel like bickering; he'd rather Draco just left him alone.

 

Draco stepped around Harry so that the sun was behind him, leaving Harry to squint up at him from the stone step he was sitting on. "They don't need much in the way of pep-up talks; knowing that you're on your own against the rest of the school does wonders for the team spirit."

 

Harry shrugged. "Don't expect me to shed any tears over poor oppressed Slytherin House."

 

"I don't," Draco replied curtly. "Let's see how you like it when we beat Hufflepuff and take the lead in the Quidditch tournament, though."

 

"I won't give a damn," Harry replied with another shrug. "You honestly think that I still care about Quidditch?"

 

"You honestly think that _I_ do?" Draco shook his head with an expression that bordered on pity. "But it won't be so easy for your lot to make these kids feel ashamed of being Slytherins while we're kicking the crap out of you on the pitch."

 

That gave Harry pause; he remembered Ron's words about how hard Malfoy made the Slytherin team train. Would anyone really go through all this trouble just to allow his housemates to hold on to their pride? It seemed a lot of effort for making a bunch of snobbish children feel better about themselves. Still, he hadn't forgotten how those children had closed ranks around their captain when Ginny had spat at him after they had beaten Gryffindor.

 

_Slytherin's loyalty is to our own._

 

For a second, Harry felt sorely tempted to tell Draco about his blood relation to Salazar Slytherin just for the sake of seeing him choke on that bit of news, but he held himself back. The less Draco knew about everything that had happened last night, the better. Harry wasn't sure why Lucius hadn't wanted his precious son to learn about Harry's half of the deal they had made, but he certainly wasn't complaining – the idea of Draco Malfoy in possession of that kind of blackmail material was highly unsettling, to say the least.

 

"So," Draco said with a smirk when Harry remained silent, "I take it you aren't carrying any leftover bits of the Dark Lord's soul around after all?"

 

That question brought Harry up short. "What? Have you been talking to your father about me?"

 

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Draco shot back, his eyes flashing. "Or are you _hoping_ that Father will break the vow? If you are, you're in for a disappointment."

 

"Then how did you know –"

 

"Oh, please!" Draco cut him off in a tone that made Harry itch to smack him. "If Father had found even the smallest hint of the Dark Lord's presence in your mind, you wouldn't be roasting in the sun here, you'd be running around in a fit of hysterics with your whole Gryffindor posse fussing over you!"

 

Before Harry could think of a fitting reply, Draco turned on his heel, shouldered his broom and marched off in the direction of the Quidditch pitch, green-and-silver robes billowing around him in a way that would have earned him Snape's grudging approval.

 

Harry stared after him, caught between annoyance and wry amusement at the thought how much it must irk the little git to know that he'd never learn what his father and Harry had really been talking about.

 

* * *

 

Somehow, Harry thought, he didn't mind Teddy's blond hair so much when the little boy was trying to make himself look like Luna. It had come as a bit of a shock how much Teddy had grown in the few weeks Harry hadn't seen him; to Harry's relief, Teddy still recognised him, but Luna with her long hair and her dangling paperclip earrings was clearly much more interesting to him.

 

Harry wasn't surprised at all that Luna and Teddy got on like a house on fire. They were currently sitting on Teddy's blanket on the floor together; Luna had conjured a flock of tiny golden birds (reminding Harry uncomfortably of Hermione's kamikaze canaries) that twittered and tweeted as they flew in circles around Teddy's head while Luna directed them with her wand as if it were a conductor's baton. Teddy squealed with delight as he tried to grab them; whenever he managed to catch one, it disintegrated with a resounding pop, which made him squeal even louder. Harry, who was watching the show from his spot on the sofa next to Mrs Tonks, found it difficult to tell whether Teddy or Luna were enjoying themselves more.

 

Mrs Tonks' smile almost split her face in two as she watched them. It was a good look on her, Harry mused, all the more because it was so rare.

 

"I can't believe I'm seeing this. Teddy is so shy around strangers these days – your girlfriend really has a way with children, Harry."

 

There was an undertone to her remark that Harry found vaguely unsettling. "Yes, she's going to be a nursery school teacher."

 

"That's nice, I'm sure she'll be great." Mrs Tonks seemed to ponder something for a moment. "Why didn't you bring her along before? You two have been together for a while, haven't you?"

 

Harry frowned at this; he was sure that he had never mentioned Luna to Mrs Tonks before. "I had no idea you even knew –"

 

"Oh, Draco mentioned her in his last letter," Mrs Tonks said casually and, after noticing Harry's expression, quickly added, "He wasn't talking about you behind your back, Harry, I asked him how you were doing. You haven't visited for a while, so –"

 

"I'm not sure Draco Malfoy is the best person to ask about my well-being," Harry pointed out in the most neutral tone he could muster, making a mental note never to miss a weekend visit at Mrs Tonks' again. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her why she hadn't written _him_ if she was so keen to know how he was doing, but he bit back the question just in time after remembering that Mrs Tonks _had_ written him a few times and that he had hardly ever written back. He'd never been much of a letter writer in the first place, and going to the Owlery to send one of the school owls always brought back painful memories of Hedwig.

 

Mrs Tonks smiled indulgently. "Don't worry, Harry, I know you still don't like him, and I don't blame you. I saw things differently too when I was your age, but by now I've learned a thing or two about the value of family."

 

Harry pressed his lips together to keep himself from reminding her that he'd never had much of a chance to learn about these values thanks to the man Draco's parents had followed. It wouldn't be fair, not when Mrs Tonks had lost just as much as he had – perhaps even more, given that she had known and loved the people who had been taken from her.

 

"So," Mrs Tonks continued in a conversational tone, "forgive me if I'm being nosy, but are you two... you know, serious?"

 

Harry felt his cheeks grow uncomfortably hot, but he was spared an answer when Luna, from her spot on the floor, replied cheerfully, "We're friends, Mrs Tonks, we're not going to get married or something like that."

 

"Oh." Mrs Tonks seemed a bit taken aback by the frank answer. "That's... a pity, I suppose."

 

"Oh, I don't know." Luna sent the last remaining bird straight into Teddy's outstretched hands and smiled at his excited squeak when it went _plop_. "Having friends is a great thing, Harry, isn't it?"

 

"Of course it is." Harry, glad of the chance to escape Mrs Tonks' needling, quickly got up and joined Luna and his godson on the floor. "Want me to take over for a bit?"

 

"Yes, please, my legs have gone to sleep." Luna stood a bit awkwardly and made her way to the sofa. Within minutes, she had engaged Mrs Tonks in an animated discussion about spells and charms that should or shouldn't be used around small children.

 

Harry tuned them out and focussed on Teddy instead. All the excitement seemed to have been a bit much for him; when Harry picked him up, Teddy made a half-hearted swipe for his glasses, but then slumped against Harry's shoulder and quickly dozed off.

 

It was a rather uncomfortable position, sitting cross-legged on the floor with the little boy hanging like a lead weight from his neck and drooling all over his shirt front, but Harry found that he didn't mind. It was oddly comforting to cradle Teddy in his arms like this, his soft blond hair tickling Harry's neck and one of his sticky little fists clenched tightly into the fabric of Harry's shirt. Teddy rarely ever held still for a second while he was awake, so Harry didn't often get a chance to just _hold_ him and marvel at this strange little creature who always managed to make him forget everything that had seemed utterly important before.

 

Harry couldn't help thinking of Remus Lupin, who would never get to hold his son like this, and he experienced a sudden surge of protectiveness that surprised him in its intensity. The idea of having children had seemed like an abstract, vaguely threatening concept just this morning, but Teddy wasn't some faceless, nameless baby that might or might not exist one day, he was real and right here, and Harry was one of the few people who were willing to be there for him when he needed them.

 

Right now Harry couldn't think of anything he wouldn't do to keep the little boy from harm, and he couldn't help it that this realisation made him think of Dumbledore. What must it be like to see such a boy before you, small and helpless and trusting, and calmly decide that he would have to be sacrificed for the greater good?

 

The thought didn't make him angry, it just left him with a vague, hollow feeling of sadness – as if he were grieving the loss of something he had tried to believe in all these years, even though he would never know if it had ever been real in the first place.

 

Harry didn't notice how both Luna and Mrs Tonks kept glancing in his direction; he held the sleeping boy as closely as he dared, rocked him gently and silently promised him to make things better, even though he had no idea yet how he was going to go about it.


	26. Chapter 26

Most of Monday morning's Charms lesson passed Harry right by while he struggled to keep his eyes open. He had felt too restless to sleep until well past midnight the previous night, and when he'd finally dozed off, his sleep had been filled with dreams that left him with a strange feeling of disorientation although he couldn't remember them when he woke up. If it hadn't been for Hermione's elbow jabbing him whenever his eyelids started to droop, he'd probably have fallen asleep on top of his Charms book.

 

Professor Flitwick was in the midst of a rather tricky demonstration when he was interrupted by a knock on the door. The tiny first-year girl who stuck her head in seemed to wither under his accusing glance, but she still managed to stammer, "Terribly sorry, Professor, but – but the Headmistress told me to tell you that she needs to see Harry Potter right away in her office..."

 

"Very well," Flitwick grumbled once the girl had fled, "off you go, Mr Potter, nothing to be done about it... everybody else, pay attention this time, I expect you to be able to cast the spell yourself by the end of this lesson!"

 

Harry was only too glad to get out of the classroom, although he wasn't overly keen to find out what McGonagall had to say to him. His best guess was that she was going to berate him for smuggling Lucius Malfoy into the school; Harry had no intention of telling her why he'd done it, but he couldn't for the life of him think of a convincing cover-up story on his way to her office.

 

He was quite surprised to find that the Headmistress wasn't alone. A middle-aged, balding man in official-looking blue robes was sitting in the visitor's chair in front of her desk; when Harry entered, he rose and offered his hand.

 

"Mr Potter, a pleasure to meet you. I'm Eustacius Quall, junior undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, and here on his behalf." He spoke with a slightly pompous air that reminded Harry of Percy's early days at the Ministry, and he had to bite back a grin.

 

McGonagall gave him a slightly reproachful look. "Have a seat, Mr Potter, Mr Quall has a message from Kingsley Shacklebolt for you."

 

Eustacius Quall took a long time to rearrange his robes around him once he'd sat down again. "I'm sure you are aware," he finally began, "that the one-year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts is fast approaching. There was no time to celebrate right after the end of the war, but now the Ministry considers it important to have a proper ceremony. It's not meant just as a celebration of our side's victory, but also as a visible sign that the wizarding world is leaving the dark past behind and is heading towards a new, better era."

 

He sounded as if he were about to launch into a speech, and it wasn't lost on Harry how McGonagall's lips thinned. "Mr Quall, this is a school and Mr Potter needs to return to his classroom, so if you'd please get to the point?"

 

"Of course, Headmistress," he replied smoothly, although he appeared a bit irritated. "Mr Potter, the Ministry is well aware of the role you played in You-Know-Who's downfall –"

 

"You can say his name." It was Harry's turn to sound irritated now. "Voldemort has been dead for almost a year, and I'm sure his ghost won't come back to haunt you."

 

Quall winced slightly. "Of course, of course. As I was saying, the Ministry knows what you've done, and we wish to show our appreciation. Minister Shacklebolt is therefore asking you if you will agree to accept the Order of Merlin, First Class, during the celebration he is planning. He –"

 

"No." Harry spoke before he'd even thought about it. "Whatever you're about to say, forget it. The answer is no."

 

Somehow Mr Quall didn't appear surprised. "Minister Shacklebolt predicted that this would be your initial reaction, but I assured him that I would be able to make you see reason, Mr Potter. I fully understand that you don't want to be singled out again, but please stop for a moment to consider that this would mean a lot to a great number of people who have put their faith in you throughout the war. Getting to see their hero –"

 

"Which part of 'no' did you not understand?" It was only McGonagall's disapproving frown that made Harry realise how loud his voice had become. "I meant it, I'm not attending any kind of Ministry ceremony, and I'm definitely not going to accept your bloody Order!"

 

Quall looked as if Harry had slapped him. "You have a duty to the public!" he snapped. "This isn't just about you, Mr Potter, it's about the people who fought and suffered and now need reassurance that we have brighter times ahead of us!"

 

"I think I've done my part in that regard," Harry replied coldly. His anger had evaporated as quickly as it had flared up, and now he felt even more tired than before. "Give Kingsley my regards and tell him he will have to look for another poster boy. I'm sure _he_ will understand."

 

"You're really willing to give Rita Skeeter free rein when it comes to the image the public has of you?" Quall sounded incredulous, but perhaps he was just trying a different tactic. Harry merely shrugged; deep down he couldn't help wondering if Kingsley had _wanted_ him to turn down the offer since he'd made it so very easy for him.

 

"To be honest, I couldn't care less about my 'image' at this point. Can I go now, Professor? I think we're done here."

 

"Of course, Mr Potter," McGonagall answered with a barely visible smile. "Please tell Professor Flitwick I apologise for the interruption of his class, and that I'll do my best to make sure it doesn't occur again."

 

* * *

 

After everything that had happened during the last days, Harry hadn't expected that the conversation with Mr Quall would make a lasting impression on him, but he found his thoughts wandering back to it throughout the day. It was especially Quall's mention of Rita Skeeter that kept nagging at him, to the point where he found it impossible to concentrate on the Potions textbook he was reading by the fire in the Gryffindor common room that evening.

 

It was well past ten o'clock, and Harry was the only person left in the common room, when Ron and Hermione climbed through the portrait hole. They were returning from a prefects' meeting; Neville wasn't with them, which meant that Harry would have to sleep in his own bed tonight since the Head Boy and Girl likely still had work to do even after all the prefects had left.

 

Ron plopped into an armchair next to Harry with an exaggerated groan. "Be grateful you were never chosen as a prefect."

 

"I am, trust me." Harry closed the book and put it aside; he wasn't getting any studying done tonight anyway. "How was the meeting?"

 

Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but Ron was faster. "You don't want to know, believe me. Please, Hermione, let's not go over it all again, all right?"

 

"Oh, very well." Hermione rolled her eyes when she sat down on the armrest of Ron's chair, but it was obvious that she too was tired. Still, her eyes were keen as ever, because after just one look at Harry she asked immediately, "Is everything all right, Harry? You seemed very preoccupied these past few days."

 

Harry did some quick thinking. He wasn't going to tell them about his talk with Lucius Malfoy – Ron would be outraged and Hermione shocked, and since he hadn't learned anything that they needed to concern themselves with, there was no reason to mention it. There was something else he wanted to discuss with them, though.

 

"I'm fine, but – do you have any idea what Rita Skeeter is up to these days? There was a bloke from the Ministry in McGonagall's office today, and he brought her up."

 

The quick glance Ron and Hermione shared was impossible to miss. "Um – now that you mention it, there is something we'd like to talk about with you," Hermione began haltingly. "Ron heard something from Percy a while ago, and I've done a bit of research, but we weren't sure if you wanted to know because –"

 

"I get it, Hermione," Harry interrupted her, wondering for the umpteenth time why Ron and Hermione kept walking on eggshells around him ever since the end of the war. "I may not read the papers, but you can still _tell_ me if you think it's important."

 

"You're not going to like it, mate." Ron, too, seemed extremely uncomfortable, which somehow was much worse than Hermione's visible nervousness.

 

"I bet." Harry did his best to sound casual. "She's writing a book about me, isn't she?" It was not a difficult guess to make, especially since Shacklebolt had all but told Harry at the beginning of the school year.

 

Ron made a face. "Not so much about you – I suppose she doesn't quite dare, since everyone is singing your praises at the moment, but..."

 

"The thing is, Harry," Hermione took over when Ron fell silent, "I'm sure she'd love nothing better than to tarnish your reputation, but I doubt she's stupid enough to openly criticise you in any way right now. So it seems she's going for a different angle – officially she's writing a sequel to her book about Dumbledore, but rumour has it that it's really focussed on you. You and Dumbledore, I mean – your relationship, the way he treated you, and..."

 

"And?" Harry asked when Hermione paused, as if she were looking for the right words. He didn't like these news at all; whatever had happened between Dumbledore and himself was nobody else's business, and he didn't even want to imagine what kind of outrageous lies Rita was going to cook up to top the stuff she'd already put in her first book.

 

"Remember how her book talked about Dumbledore's 'unhealthy relationship' with you?" Harry had never before realised that Hermione could pronounce quotation marks. Without waiting for a reply, she pressed on, "It seems that she'll be going into details with that in the sequel, if you get my drift."

 

Harry frowned. "I don't, actually. What kind of details?"

 

Hermione took a deep breath, as if she were steeling herself. "From what I've heard, she's going to claim that there was a certain, um... _physical_ aspect to Dumbledore's 'unnatural interest' in you."

 

Harry felt his jaw drop. Ron, whose ears were bright red, wouldn't look at him; Hermione held his gaze, but she too was blushing. "It's obvious that she's still holding a grudge against you, and since she doesn't dare to attack you –"

 

"She's trying to paint me as some kind of – of abused child?" Harry wasn't sure whether he wanted to laugh or to smash something. "That's sick!"

 

"Of course it is," Ron murmured darkly, "but it's also brilliant in a completely twisted way, don't you see? Once this gets out, there will be nothing you can do – even if you drag her in front of the Wizengamot for slander, the damage is already done, and she'll probably just say that you're too ashamed to admit the truth."

 

"Plus, it would give her even more publicity," Hermione added matter-of-factly.

 

"Damn." Harry felt an angry blush creep up his own cheeks as he bit his lips in frustration. He hadn't thought that any of Rita's fabrications would ever bother him again, but this was beyond anything he'd considered even her capable of. The mere idea that people might actually believe it made him almost physically ill.

 

Hermione had reached for her bulging book bag and was rummaging through it. "I've been thinking, Harry – like Ron said, there's no way to undo the damage if she publishes this, so you need to make sure she doesn't get the chance."

 

Harry frowned at the sheet of parchment she held out to him. "What's this?"

 

"A letter to the publisher." There was a hint of triumph in Hermione's tone. "It's supposed to remain a secret until the book is officially announced, but Percy found out for me who is going to print it. You should write them."

 

"What for? It's not as if I can forbid them to print a book, and I doubt they'll pass up the opportunity to make a fortune just because it might piss me off!"

 

"I'm not so sure about that," Hermione replied with a smug smile. "It's worth a try, isn't it? I've drafted a letter for you in which you express your disappointment – just that, nothing more – that a respectable publisher would be willing to besmirch not only Dumbledore's name, but yours as well... after everything you've done for the wizarding world, no less. I know," she added hastily when she saw Harry's expression, "you don't like to play the saviour card, but in this case I really think it's it the only solution, Harry."

 

With a sigh, Harry took the parchment and quickly skimmed the text Hermione had written. The letter was brief and very formal; if the tone had been any colder, there would have been icicles growing all over it. "You seriously think this is going to impress anyone?"

 

Hermione brandished a self-inking quill as if it were the Sword of Gryffindor. "Sign it, and we'll see how it goes."

 

With a shrug, Harry took the quill and scribbled his name on the bottom of the page. The moment he was done, Hermione snatched the letter out of his hands. "I'll owl it to them first thing in the morning. I'll be off to bed now, I need to go to the library before breakfast to look up a few things for my Arithmancy essay."

 

She bent down to kiss Ron, bade Harry good night and then climbed the stairs that led up to the girls' dormitories.

 

Ron watched her leave with a frown. "Say, Harry, am I seeing things, or should I really start worrying that she'll leave me for Percy one day?"

 

Uncomfortable as Harry still was, he couldn't help laughing at this. "I'd say you've gone mental."

 

"Oh." Ron leaned his head against the backrest of his chair and stretched like a big, lazy ginger cat. "That's all right, then; it means I can always steal your girlfriend if mine dumps me for my brother."

 

Harry cuffed him over the head with his Potions book and then made a dash for the stairs, the pillow that Ron threw after him missing him by inches.

 

* * *

 

"Potter, you still with us?" Draco snapped his fingers right in front of Harry's nose, almost making him spill red ink all over the essay he was supposed to mark.

 

Harry slapped Draco's hand away and shot him a glare. "What the heck was that for?"

 

"We need to get these finished today, remember?" Draco indicated the pile of essays between them with an expression bordering on disgust. "I'll be –"

 

"Going home for the Easter hols tomorrow." Harry rolled his eyes. "I _know_ , Malfoy, even though you've only mentioned it fifteen times during the last hour or so."

 

He fully expected Draco to point out that unlike Harry, some people _had_ a family to go home to, but Draco merely shrugged. "Then why are you staring holes into the ceiling instead of working?"

 

Harry had been mulling over the remnants of an extremely bizarre dream he'd had last night – something involving Lucius Malfoy, Merope Gaunt, and a dark little room that had reminded him a bit of his cupboard back at number four, Privet Drive. He shook his head, trying to banish the snatches of the dream that kept turning up in his memory. Draco looked at him as if he were actually expecting an answer, so Harry said the first thing that came to his mind.

 

"I was thinking about what to give Teddy for his first birthday."

 

"Aren't you ever the doting godfather." Draco made a face. "Just don't get him a toy broom, Mother already bought one for him. Don't worry," he added in a mocking tone when he saw Harry's darkening expression, "I'm sure she'll check beforehand whether you're around this time."

 

Harry put his quill aside and looked Draco fully in the face. "Just out of curiosity, what is your mother hoping to gain from this whole charade? Does she honestly think that sucking up to Mrs Tonks is going to do her any good?" His calm tone didn't give away his irritation; he'd really been looking forward to buying Teddy his first broom once he was a bit older.

 

Draco held Harry's gaze for a moment, but then he shrugged and turned away. "Ask her yourself the next time you run into her, I'm sure Aunt Andromeda will appreciate the sentiment."

 

Harry bit the inside of his lower lip in annoyance. "Trust you to find another back to hide behind, Malfoy."

 

Draco kept his eyes on the essay in front of him, although his posture stiffened a bit. "Well, I suppose we can't all be heroes."

 

There was something in his tone that, for some odd reason, made Harry think of the expression Draco had worn that morning when everyone had thought he had killed Greyback. There was no time to ponder it, though, because the sound of someone pointedly clearing his throat announced that Snape's portrait had returned to his frame.

 

"Potter, Malfoy, I would love to find you working instead of bickering just once. At the rate you're going, you'll be here until midnight."

 

"I'm so sorry, Professor," Draco spoke up meekly, "but I forgot to tell you that I have to leave at seven o'clock, I've scheduled one more Quidditch practice before the holidays. I thought that now with Slytherin being in the lead –"

 

Harry looked up sharply, only too aware where this was going. "Hey, you –"

 

"Oh, very well, Mr Malfoy," Snape interrupted him, and although he sounded grumpy enough, Draco's smirk was clearly reflected in his face. "You've got a responsibility towards your team, after all. Mr Potter will just have to finish the rest without you – you _are_ capable of doing that, Potter, I hope?"

 

For a second, Harry felt a mad urge to stick his tongue out at Snape's portrait; childish or not, it was oddly liberating. He finally settled on a wordless sneer instead; Snape probably hadn't expected him to answer anyway.

 

At least, Harry thought with a quick glance towards the window while he dipped his quill into the red ink once again, it looked like there was going to be rain in the evening.


	27. Chapter 27

Time seemed to speed up once the Easter Holidays started and Harry found himself in a half-empty castle with a stack of colour-coded study notes that Hermione had left for him. He hadn't given the upcoming exams much thought during the last weeks, but now that he was no longer preoccupied with searching his mind and soul for traces of Voldemort, he realised with slight alarm how far behind he was with his preparations. NEWTs were scheduled for mid-June, and if he wanted to do well on them, he couldn't afford to waste any more time.

 

Harry had never been a bookish person, but once he started burying himself in his studies in earnest, he found them surprisingly calming. It made for a welcome change to lose himself in a world where there was an answer to each question, where there were no demands but to cram pages and pages of information into his brain. Hermione was highly pleased with his progress when she came back from the holidays, and even though Ron shot him exaggerated dark looks and murmured something about swots, Harry couldn't help the impression that Ron was a bit relieved to see him buried in schoolwork.

 

He had to admit that he did feel better than he had in a while. He pored over his books each night until he was tired enough to doze off on top of them, but he slept all the better for it once he fell into bed. He still had strange dreams sometimes, but they were fuzzy and nebulous and quickly faded once he woke. Harry wasn't sure whether the troubling images were gone from his mind because he had stopped worrying about Voldemort causing them somehow, or because he still kept the bottle of memories that he had extracted before his talk with Lucius Malfoy locked away in his trunk. He did his best not to think about it – neither the dreams nor their likely cause held any significance any more, now that Harry knew that there were no remnants of Voldemort hatching in his brain. Therefore, he told himself it was best to leave the memories where they were for the time being since he really didn't need the distraction right now.

 

He still did his best to see Teddy regularly, even if the way his godson's face lit up when Harry picked him up always made him think of how it should have been Remus in his place. The much-anticipated birthday celebration went swimmingly, although it irked Harry to no end how much the little boy loved the toy broom Narcissa had given him the day before (Andromeda Tonks had wisely managed to avoid another meeting between Harry and her sister). As the weather got warmer, Mrs Tonks let Harry take Teddy outside and teach him to fly – or rather, hover a few inches over the ground – on his new broom, and Teddy's enthusiastic squealing and laughing made Harry long for the day when he would be old enough to take him flying for real.

 

The one-year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts came and went, and to Harry's immense relief McGonagall managed to keep all Ministry officials away from the school. Since Harry still didn't read the papers, he had no idea what kind of celebration the Ministry had finally settled on; at Hogwarts, there only was a quiet, dignified ceremony in the Great Hall on the eve of the anniversary, with toasts to the memory of the fallen and a short, heartfelt speech by the Headmistress that was more about the future than the past. Harry let it all pass him by and almost managed to convince himself that it didn't concern him. He still saw the long row of dead bodies laid out on the flagstones of the Great Hall before him, and he knew that the memory would be a part of him for the rest of his life, but that seemed like a small price to pay for still _having_ a life to live when so many others had lost theirs.

 

Then the exams suddenly were just a month away. There was a buzz of activity among the seventh-year students, although it felt very different from the hectic anxiety Harry remembered from his OWL year. He reckoned that school exams just weren't enough to frighten his classmates any more after everything that had happened, but they all seemed driven by the same grim determination to focus on their studies and pass every exam with flying colours as if nothing else had ever mattered in their lives.

 

The Quidditch final made for a brief interruption of everyone's busy work schedule. Slytherin was leading Ravenclaw by a narrow margin going into the last match of the school year, and although Ravenclaw clearly was the better team in the final, Slytherin took the Cup thanks to a daredevil manoeuvre by Draco Malfoy, who plucked the Snitch right from under the Ravenclaw Seeker's nose. Even Harry had to admit that it had been one of the neatest pieces of flying he'd ever seen, and when Luna, dressed in blue from head to toe beside him, stuck two fingers in her mouth and let out a loud, appreciative whistle in spite of her House team's defeat, he forced himself to clap politely for a few seconds. Draco's team mates were all over their captain the moment they'd all landed, and his grin when they lifted him on their shoulders as he held the cup almost split his face in two. Harry found himself wondering if he'd ever seen Draco smile like this before, completely free of malice or superiority, but he forgot about it when Luna started talking about how all this trampling around was going to upset the Kurdwurbles that were living in their burrows under the Quidditch pitch.

 

* * *

 

The day of the Quidditch final had been overcast and windy, but the following morning dawned bright and blue, and there was a smell of early summer in the air. Harry had spent the evening studying with Luna in her room, both eager to avoid the collective post-match gloom in their respective common rooms, and he had ended up in bed with her, which had made for a nice change after weeks of hardly seeing each other outside the library. Now that he was accompanying her to the Great Hall for breakfast, he felt more at peace with the world and with himself than he had in a while.

 

Luna was humming to herself and looked as if her thoughts were miles away. She was about to walk through the door of the Great Hall ahead of Harry when Draco Malfoy, coming from the other side of the corridor, rounded the corner and almost bumped into her. They both froze for a second, and Harry was about to tell Draco to watch where he was going when Draco took a step back and, with a gesture that was so exaggerated that it might have come straight out of ballet school, signalled for Luna to go ahead.

 

"After you, Loony."

 

Harry's eyebrows shot up, but Luna didn't seem to mind the nickname; she smiled, bobbed a mocking curtsey and stepped over the threshold. It wasn't lost on Harry how Draco followed her immediately, making it perfectly clear that he would definitely _not_ step aside for Harry.

 

Once all three of them were inside, Luna held out her hand towards Draco. "My congratulations," she said gravely. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone fly like you did yesterday. It was a well-deserved victory."

 

Draco, who seemed to have taken her hand out of sheer surprise, quickly let go again; he was clearly uncertain how to react. "Erm – well, thank you."

 

Luna nodded, gave Harry a little wave and then went off towards the Ravenclaw table. Draco stared after her with a bemused expression, and Harry expected a snide remark about his mental girlfriend any moment, but all Draco said eventually was, "Full of surprises, isn't she?"

 

In spite of himself, Harry couldn't help smiling at this. "She is that, yes." He paused for a second and then, on a sudden whim he didn't fully understand himself, added, "For someone who claimed he didn't care about Quidditch any more, you took one hell of a risk with that last feint. Are you that eager to break your neck?"

 

Draco cocked an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you would have been sorry if I had."

 

Harry stiffened; from Draco's tone, it was clear that he was just trying to be flippant, but Harry had seen too much death to feel comfortable joking about it. Draco definitely hadn't been this blasé about the prospect of dying when he'd clung to Harry during their flight through the burning Room of Requirement – or during the night when Harry had killed Greyback.

 

Harry took a closer look and noticed, not for the first time, the pinched expression on Draco's face and the dark shadows under his eyes. He was so pasty that the scar across his cheek that had faded to a pale pink still stood out clearly against his skin, and from the way his robes hung from his shoulders, it was obvious that he had lost weight recently. Not that Harry cared, of course; after everything Draco had done, he could consider himself damn lucky that all he'd had to worry about recently had been Quidditch and pre-NEWTs stress.

 

It was probably best not think about it too much. "As a matter of fact, I would have been," Harry answered lightly, going for the same nonchalance that Draco was trying to display. "There's still the last round of Defence essays to mark, and I'm definitely not doing it alone this time, so don't think you can wiggle out of this again!"

 

Draco shrugged with a lopsided grin. "I'll endure it for the prospect of being rid of you forever afterwards."

 

There was surprisingly little venom in his tone, and for a second Harry felt almost tempted to grin back, even though Draco's words reminded him uncomfortably of the vow he'd made to his father. Draco might look forward to getting rid of Harry, but Harry knew better than to get his hopes up in that regard; given the git's talent for getting in over his head, he had no doubt that there would come a day when he'd have to live up to his promise, whether he liked it or not.

 

When Harry didn't answer, Draco turned on his heel and strutted over to the Slytherin table, every inch the new Quidditch star gracing his admiring fans with his presence. Harry made a face and turned towards his own House table, determined not to let Draco Malfoy ruin this fine morning for him.

 

* * *

 

Harry was halfway through his breakfast and listening to Hermione and Neville discussing career options after school (Neville wanted to apply for an advanced Herbology research programme that was going to be carried out in the Amazon rain forests, and Hermione seemed fascinated by the idea and kept badgering him with questions) when the usual flock of post owls swooped into the Great Hall. Harry barely looked at them; now that he visited Mrs Tonks regularly, she hardly ever wrote any more, and he didn't get much mail from other people these days. Therefore, the eagle owl that landed on the Gryffindor table right in front of him startled him badly, and if it hadn't been for Ron's quick reaction, Harry would have spilled his Pumpkin Juice all over Ron's toast.

 

"Blimey, Harry, it's just an owl! Who's writing?"

 

"No idea," Harry replied with a trace of embarrassment while he reached for the roll of parchment that was tied to the owl's leg. "I don't recognise the owl either, so –"

 

He was interrupted by a whooshing of wings as the huge bird, without even waiting for the usual owl treat or scrap of bacon, took flight the moment Harry had untied the letter. Harry was beginning to get a rather bad feeling about this.

 

He unrolled the parchment and frowned when he read the name of the sender. "Livius Blumburg? Never heard of –"

 

"But of course you have!" Hermione cut him off, momentarily abandoning Neville's diatribe about fascinating tropical plants. "He's the publisher, remember? The one you wrote to because of – well, you know!"

 

"Better read this outside, mate," Ron added quickly. "I'm done eating anyway. Are you coming?"

 

Harry hastily rolled the letter again and left the table with Ron; Hermione grabbed her book bag and followed right behind.

 

Both of them rounded up on him the moment they were outside the Great Hall. "What did he write?" Hermione asked in a brisk tone that didn't quite conceal the fact that she looked nervous. Ron didn't say anything; he seemed about as uncomfortable as Harry felt.

 

There was nothing for it, though, so Harry unrolled the letter for the second time and held it so that all three of them could read it.

 

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_thank you very much for your letter in which you voiced your concerns about the manuscript that Ms Rita Skeeter was allegedly planning to publish via my company. Ms Skeeter had indeed approached me with this project, although I had not yet agreed to printing her book, and I did not have any detailed information on the contents of her planned work at the time._

_After receiving your letter, I immediately looked into the matter, and I am sorry to say that she was indeed going to include the disturbing allegations that you were concerned about. I talked to her at length, but unfortunately she refused to see reason. Therefore, I declared the prior agreement I had with her null and void and told her in no uncertain terms that I would never lend my hand in publishing such vile slanders, especially since I am well aware how much we all owe you._

_Furthermore, I have passed on the information about Ms Skeeter's highly questionable plans to my colleagues, and I am happy to inform you that no respectable publisher in wizarding Britain is going to aid her in carrying out her plans with this book._

_I deeply regret that I was almost tricked into this, and I greatly appreciate your willingness to approach me before I unwittingly became an accomplice of such a despicable attack against_ _your integrity. I very much hope that you will be able to forgive my oversight and will not think too poorly of me for it. I assure you that I will be more cautious in the future and always look out for your best interests wherever publications that involve your person are concerned. Please do not hesitate to contact me again with any concerns you might have._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Livius Blumburg_

 

When he'd finished reading, Harry looked up from the letter into the beaming faces of Hermione and Ron. "I never thought he'd give in so quickly!" Hermione exclaimed, sounding equally excited and smug. "I told you it was worth a try to write, didn't I?"

 

Ron clapped Harry on the back with an expression of deep relief. "Great news, mate. Who'd have thought there would come a day when it would only take you a letter to shut Rita up for good?"

 

"Who indeed?" Harry murmured absent-mindedly, his thoughts racing. Like Ron and Hermione, he would never have expected such a downright grovelling acquiescence to his wishes, and he wasn't sure what to make of it. The publisher didn't seem bothered by Rita's accusations against Dumbledore, but he was clearly terrified by the idea of upsetting Harry in the slightest. Harry felt the familiar knot forming in his stomach when he followed that train of thought and realised what it was that troubled him so much about this letter that he couldn't share into Ron and Hermione's celebratory mood.

 

The letter was all but reeking of fear. Mr Livius Blumburg, whoever he was, hadn't given in to Harry's wishes because he was an honest businessman, or because he was grateful for what Harry had done, but because he was afraid.

 

Afraid of _him_.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry sat through this morning's Charms lesson without hearing a single word Professor Flitwick was saying. He kept going back and forth over the text of the letter, but the conclusion he came to was always the same. It seemed almost strange that after years of being faced with either blind adoration or mistrust and contempt, he'd never even considered that there might still be an alternative he would like even less.

 

In hindsight, it seemed to him that he should have understood earlier why everyone was tiptoeing around him, but at the time he'd actually believed that most people might have his own well-being in mind when they treated him as if he might either fall apart or explode any moment. The memory of Shacklebolt's tense expression and McGonagall's worried looks suddenly got a whole new meaning, as well as the fact that, for the first time ever, his wish to be kept out of the spotlight had been respected. For a moment, he felt an odd pang of fondness for Rita Skeeter, the only journalist who obviously wasn't afraid enough of him to leave him alone.

 

Harry would have loved to be furious at all the idiots who were repaying him like this after everything he'd been through for their sake, but he just couldn't muster the anger he probably would have felt under the same circumstances a year ago. Even if they were afraid of him because of false assumptions – given what he'd heard, most people thought he had killed the most powerful Dark Wizard ever right after returning from the dead himself – he'd learned too much about himself during the last months to still blame them for fearing him. A glimpse into the darkness of Harry's soul had managed to impress a man like Lucius Malfoy, and even Dumbledore had admitted that he had once considered Harry dangerous enough to think of his death as the safer option.

 

Once again, Harry remembered the glorious rush of deadly power that had claimed Fenrir Greyback's life. It had given him an idea of what he was capable of, and he had just barely come to terms with the realisation that he would always have to keep a tight rein over himself, that the rest of his life was going to be a constant struggle to hold the darkness within himself at bay. What he hadn't expected, however, had been that he would have to lead this life surrounded by those who feared him for it.

 

Until now, Harry had always had to fight for everything, and his whole life had been shaped by that fight. What would happen now, when he could get what he wanted simply because of the fear he instilled in people? How was he supposed to keep the darkness safely locked away within himself when people were giving him power over them because of it?

 

All around him, his fellow students were busy taking notes about Professor Flitwick's demonstrations, but Harry felt as if an invisible wall was separating him from the soothing familiarity of just another day at school. He had thought the worst was over when his life had slowly returned to something resembling normality during the past year – but now it dawned on him that there was a good chance that the worst was only just beginning.


	28. Chapter 28

The still water of the lake shone like a huge mirror in the golden light of the late afternoon sun. There was no wind to ripple the surface, and the Giant Squid was nowhere in sight – it might, as Luna had pointed out a bit earlier, have got its tentacles tied into a knot again so that it had to seek out the merpeople for help.

 

Harry still wasn't sure whether she'd been serious. Even after half a year of not-quite-going out together, he sometimes had trouble figuring out which of her remarks were jokes and which weren't. It didn't bother him overmuch right now, though; he felt peaceful and relaxed for the first time in weeks and wasn't going to spoil that. He was sitting in the shade of a huge rock right by the side of the lake, his back against the rough, cool stone and Luna's head in his lap, his fingers idly playing with a strand of her hair. Right next to them, Hermione was curled up against Ron's chest in a way that reminded Harry of Crookshanks. Ron had his eyes closed and seemed half-asleep, but Hermione's expression was a bit anxious, as if she were still not quite over the fact that Ron had bodily pulled her away from her schoolbooks.

 

They'd all been sitting in comfortable silence for a while when Hermione sighed softly and then said, sounding as if she were mostly talking to herself, "Tomorrow, then."

 

Ron opened his eyes and gave her a reproachful glance. "Oi, Hermione, remember what we said? No talk about the exams, we're all here to relax!"

 

"I wasn't –" Hermione faltered, then tried again. "I didn't mean the exams – I mean, I did, but I just thought how strange it is that it seems so normal to worry about exams again after everything..."

 

Harry almost did a double-take; like most of his classmates, Hermione usually didn't mention last year's events without a pressing reason. Throughout the school year, there seemed to have been an unspoken agreement to let the past lie and concentrate on the future, so much that a remark like this out of Hermione's mouth felt like the breach of a taboo now.

 

Luna appeared unfazed as ever, but like Harry, Ron didn't seem quite sure how to react. His laugh sounded a bit forced when he replied, "Don't tell me you're seriously worried about your NEWTs."

 

Hermione paused for a second. "Not really, no," she finally relented, as if she were admitting a personal defeat. "I mean, I did all I could to prepare, so what's the point?"

 

"Seems Ron is finally rubbing off on you," Harry threw in with a grin, glad of the opportunity to steer the conversation away from touchy subjects.

 

"Speak for yourself, mate," Ron grumbled. "I _am_ worrying, considering that I need five E's before I'll even get a chance to apply for Auror training! Yes, I know," he added when he saw that Harry was about to interrupt him, "so do you, but _I'm_ not Harry Potter, am I?"

 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked, bristling; Luna gave him a calculating look that immediately made him feel silly for losing his temper over this.

 

Ron didn't take the bait anyway; he merely grinned. "Come on, Harry, you _know_ the DMLE can't wait to have you. I bet every prospective Dark Wizard in Britain is pissing himself knowing that you'll be coming after him soon!"

 

Luna giggled at this, but Harry didn't find the remark all that funny. It must have shown on his face, because Hermione quickly added, "I'm sure you'll have a brilliant career in the Auror Department, Harry. Think of it – now that a former Auror is heading the Ministry, the Aurors are bound to play a bigger role in politics as well, so this job might come with quite a lot of influence. Just imagine the things you'll be able to achieve – we all know that there's still so much about the Ministry that needs to change, and you might be in a position to bring about these changes one day!"

 

"You'll probably be Department Head and Shacklebolt's right hand five years from now," Ron added with a grin. From his tone, it was clear that he was joking, but Harry couldn't bring himself to smile; he suddenly felt cold and strangely exhausted. So these were the prospects for his future – power that would result in fear, fear that would result in power, and all the impossible expectations and inevitable pitfalls that went with either. Had it really been just three short months since he had told Dumbledore how he was going to start living his own life?

 

So far, it wasn't turning out quite the way he had imagined.

 

* * *

 

It was a bit like a journey back in time to step into the Great Hall and see that the four house tables had been removed and replaced instead with many tables for one, all facing the staff-table end of the Hall where Professor McGonagall stood. Harry felt a little light-headed; he wasn't nervous, but he hadn't slept very well last night, and he'd only nibbled at his toast at breakfast because of the queasy feeling in his stomach that had grown ever stronger as the exams drew nearer.

 

His classmates didn't look too comfortable either, although most of them appeared more determined than anxious. Hermione's jaw was set in a way that made her look as if she were going to bite someone; Ron was pale but for two red blotches on his cheeks, but he gave Harry a quick grin and a thumbs-up when he sat down at the desk next to him. Ginny seemed about to choose the desk on his other side, but then she reconsidered at the last moment and went to sit in front of Harry instead. Neville took her abandoned desk and busied himself with his quill and ink bottle as if his life depended on it, but he looked remarkably calm.

 

Harry caught Luna's eyes over several rows of desks; she smiled and blew him a kiss, then pointed to her neck where the paper clip necklace he had given her for Christmas was glittering against the dark fabric of her robes. Harry grinned back and raised his bright blue Fwooper quill; he had never used it in class so far, but it had seemed appropriate to bring her Christmas present for good luck today, even if it _did_ look a bit silly. An all-too familiar snicker right behind Harry confirmed that Draco thought so too, but today it almost felt welcome in its comforting normality. Or perhaps, Harry thought with a wry smile, it was just the knowledge that the git wouldn't constantly be around him much longer.

 

Then McGonagall said, "You may begin" and turned over the huge hour-glass on the desk beside her that Harry remembered from his OWLs. The blank parchment on his desk rippled like the surface of a puddle for a second before a list of questions appeared – Professor Flitwick had obviously wanted to add an extra touch of magical finesse to their Charms exam. Harry took a deep breath, tried to clear his head of all thoughts that weren't NEWTs-related, and read the first question.

 

* * *

 

Harry's practical Charms exam in the afternoon began with a surprise. When his name was called (NEWT students were tested by the whole board of examiners, not just by one of them like OWL candidates, so they weren't called in in groups of three this time), he found himself facing Minister Shacklebolt who was sitting between Professor Marchbanks and a tiny, balding wizard who looked like Professor Flitwick's older brother. Harry stopped short on the threshold, but the Minister merely grinned at his astonished expression.

 

"Hello, Harry, it's good to see you again. Don't mind me, I'm only watching."

 

"Just my exam, or everyone else's too?" Harry couldn't help asking, and although he knew it wasn't his place, the question came out rather sharply. Professor Flitwick, who had called Harry in, seemed about to say something, but Kingsley smiled – a tad too indulgently for Harry's taste.

 

"I'm here for all the practical NEWT exams. We're recruiting, after all; there are still plenty of openings at the Ministry, and I'd like to see for myself what we can expect. Just pretend I'm not here, all right?"

 

"Fine." Before Harry could say anything else, Professor Marchbanks cut him off – or perhaps she was just too deaf to have heard the whole exchange in the first place.

 

"Mr Potter, is it?" She glanced at a sheet or parchment in front of her, then looked at him over the rim of her thick glasses and smiled. "Ah yes, of course it is. Very well, my dear boy, let's get started, shall we? I just noticed that Professor Tofty here is wearing mismatched socks again, so would you please use a Protean Charm to resolve the matter?"

 

"I can't believe you're _still_ doing the socks thing," Shacklebolt murmured under his breath, but Professor Marchbanks either hadn't heard anything, or she chose to ignore him. Harry bit back a grin and raised his wand.

 

* * *

 

That evening, there was much speculation in the Gryffindor Common Room about the Minister's unexpected presence, but Harry barely listened to any of it. Hermione was quizzing him and Ron about the finer points of object-to-animal Transfiguration, and while it would have driven him up the wall two years ago, he found it strangely soothing now since it gave him something to focus on. Ron, who usually did his best to escape Hermione's attempts at last-minute revision, was in such a good mood tonight that he played along without complaint. Professor Marchbanks had clapped her hands in delight when he'd made her pocket watch sing _Auld Lang Syne_ in Celestina Warbeck's voice, thus giving Ron hope that he'd secured the first of those five E's he needed for getting into Auror training.

 

"I'm just glad that I'll be done by the end of the week," he said while Hermione rifled through her Transfiguration textbook in search for another detail she might have missed, "I can't imagine what it must be like to have another round of exams waiting for me next week – eh, Hermione, were you saying something?"

 

"Oh, shut it," Hermione murmured without taking her eyes off the page she was reading, "just because you're content with five NEWTs doesn't mean everyone is."

 

"Harry is, though," Ron pointed out good-naturedly. "We need just five NEWTs to become Aurors, what would we do with more?"

 

"Yes, God forbid you learn something _unnecessary_ ," Hermione replied tartly. "Arithmancy would have done you a world of good, it's a truly fascinating subject..."

 

Harry tuned out their bickering with practised ease as he let his head fall back against the backrest of the couch and closed his eyes for a moment. Like Ron, he was glad that it would all be over in another four days, and he knew he hadn't started off badly. It was a bit disconcerting that the queasy feeling in his stomach still wouldn't subside, and he couldn't help wondering why his nerves were acting up like this now when he'd managed to live through so much worse – but then he had to smile at the thought what McGonagall would say if she knew that his subconscious obviously found Transfiguration scarier than Voldemort.

 

* * *

 

In spite of Harry's subconscious, Transfiguration on Tuesday went well enough. There was no way to be sure about the written exam, of course, but he had a feeling that he hadn't done too badly on it, and the practical part turned out to be way easier than expected. Ron seemed content afterwards as well, and although Hermione kept going back and forth over the question whether she hadn't transfigured her flowerpot into a polecat instead of the marten she'd been asked to produce, Harry could tell that she wasn't that worried about it.

 

He ran into a small problem during his Herbology practical on Wednesday when the blossoms of the Venus Fairytrap he was supposed to de-fang tried to eat each other, but he was able to stun most of them before they could do much harm. That evening he snuck out of the Common Room and went to find Luna. It took some persuasion to lure her away from her books – Luna was taking eight NEWTs (Hermione, who was taking seven, still wasn't quite over it), and although she handled the stress with unfaltering cheerfulness, Harry was convinced that she needed a break as much as everyone else. He took her for a walk along the lakeshore, and they ended up under one of the gnarled old trees that grew there.

 

They watched the sun set over the hills behind the lake, and Luna snuggled up to Harry as the air grew cooler. He held on to her, enjoying the warmth of her hand in his and trying not to think of the fact that it was a matter of mere days now until she would be gone from his life, when the year of respite he'd been granted was over and he would have to face a future that he was a lot less certain about than he'd once been.

 

He slept badly that night again; his dreams took him back to the hours after the Battle of Hogwarts, when he'd been wandering around between the dead and wounded in the Great Hall. He woke groggy and disoriented, the image of Tonks and Remus' still forms on the bloodstained floor still at the back of his mind, and it took him a moment to get his bearings. He was quite grateful that today's exam would be Defence, not Potions; even with his head pounding as if it were about to explode, he probably wasn't going to fail a subject that he'd always excelled in and that he had now co-taught for the better part of a year.

 

As expected, the written exam wasn't much of a challenge. When he handed in his parchment, Harry wondered fleetingly who was going to mark it since he and Draco could hardly be asked to mark their own NEWT exams. Perhaps Professor Tofty would read them to Snape's portrait, if he ever managed to repair his glasses which Neville had accidentally spelled opaque during the Charms practical.

 

Even though he knew he had little to worry about, Harry felt inexplicably wary when he was called in for his practical in the afternoon. The board of examiners had just finished with the previous candidate, Draco Malfoy, when Harry entered; Harry caught the expression on the face of Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was looking Draco over as if he weren't quite sure what to make of him. Given what Harry had seen of Draco's knowledge on the subject throughout the year, it seemed unlikely that he had done badly on his exam, and Harry couldn't help wondering if there was something more to Kingsley's thoughtful look than just surprise.

 

His thoughts were interrupted by Professor Tofty, who gave a cough as if he were about to launch into a speech. "Ah, Mr Potter – we're finding ourselves at a bit of a loss with you. It seems rather strange to ask you for a demonstration of your defensive skills when you already managed to defeat the most dangerous Dark Wizard in history..."

 

There were nods all around, and Harry felt an uncomfortable blush creep up his cheeks. His stomach seemed to be trying to tie itself into a knot, and for a second he had to fight the mad urge to turn around on his heel and march out of the room without a word.

 

He was saved by Draco of all people, who made a great show of rolling his eyes as he turned away from the board. "Should we levitate you onto that pedestal, Potter, or is your head inflated enough by now to float up on your own?" he whispered as he passed Harry by on his way to the door, and Harry felt an odd rush of relief; insufferable git or not, right now it was reassuring to know that there was still someone who was always willing to bring him down a notch or two.

 

"I defeated Voldemort with _Expelliarmus_ ," he said tersely as soon as the heavy door had fallen shut behind Draco. "Somehow I don't think that the fact I can manage a Disarming Spell should be enough to get me a Defence NEWT, Professor."

 

Professor Tofty seemed taken aback, but Professor Marchbanks, whose deafness couldn't be quite that bad after all, cackled as if he'd cracked a hilarious joke. "You have a point, my boy. Minister, you probably don't want to risk complaints that your star Auror wasn't properly trained, do you?"

 

_Your star Auror?_ Harry shot Kingsley an accusing look, but the Minister raised his hands in a gesture that clearly said he'd kept his promise of not announcing Harry's career plans to anyone. Of course, Professor Marchbanks might already have heard about them during Harry's OWL exams two years ago.

 

Which meant that whether Kingsley had really kept quiet or not, the whole Ministry knew at this point. _You'll probably be Department Head and Shacklebolt's right hand five years from now..._

 

"Well then!" Professor Marchbanks exclaimed, looking strangely excited. "Let's see a few NEWT-level Anti-Jinxes, shall we?"

 

* * *

 

Harry barely touched his breakfast on Friday morning. By lunchtime, after the written Potions exam, the queasy feeling in his stomach had developed into full-blown nausea, and the mere thought of food made his throat close up. He decided to go back to his room and take a nap instead of lunch, but sleep just wouldn't come. After two hours of staring at the ceiling and replaying his practical Defense exam in his mind over and over again, he felt even worse than before.

 

_Your star Auror._ He knew that three years ago he would have been ecstatic, but now he felt as if invisible hands were tugging at him from all sides, dragging him down the path towards a future that had already been mapped out for him, no matter whether he still wanted it or not. And then there were those who stood aside, careful not to cross him because they were afraid...

 

Harry thought of Mr Blumburg's grovelling letter and found himself wondering how long it would take until he got so used to this new, casual kind of power that he no longer thought twice about using it. Dumbledore's admittance that he wasn't to be trusted with power had never resonated with him before, but now he felt as if he understood for the first time what the late Headmaster had meant by it. Yet Dumbledore had still gone halfway down the very path Harry saw ahead of himself now – he had refused official political authority, but he'd carefully held on to his share of actual power, and had wielded it ruthlessly whenever he'd considered it necessary. It had turned out for the best in the end, but Harry couldn't help thinking that for every Albus Dumbledore out there, there also was a Tom Riddle who wouldn't stop halfway.

 

_Just imagine the things you'll be able to achieve_ , Hermione spoke up in his mind, but somehow it blended together with the memory of the bitterness in Ron's voice when he'd said, many months ago, _for the greater good_. How did you deal with the realisation that your biggest fear was that you might one day be willing to do the things you were capable of?

 

By the time he had to get up and get ready for his Potions practical, Harry had another pounding headache on top of everything else. He met a bunch of tense-looking classmates outside the Great Hall; the practical Potions exam took time, so they'd all be tested together instead of one after the other. A wide circle of worktables with cauldrons, scales, and potion kits awaited them once they were called into the Great Hall. Harry spotted the telltale flicker of Shield Charms between the tables, probably to prevent students from spoiling another candidate's work if their cauldron exploded. In the centre of the circle, another, much bigger table was laden with ingredients.

 

Professor Slughorn, who had ushered them in, clapped Harry on the shoulder when he passed him by and boomed, "Good luck, Mr Potter – not that you'll need it!" in a voice that rang through the whole Hall. Harry winced and threw a quick look in the direction of the staff table, where the Minister sat with the examiners. Shacklebolt didn't seem bothered by Slughorn's unconcerned display of favouritism; he grinned and winked at Harry when he caught his eye. Harry half expected a snide remark from the direction of Draco's table, which was right across his own, but none came; Draco already had his nose buried in the parchment containing the instructions for the exam.

 

Harry's own instructions asked him to brew Amortentia. He stared at the letters on the parchment for a second, wondering whether this was Slughorn's idea of a joke, before he remembered that the choice had likely been the examiners'. It meant he should probably brace himself for endless teasing about Professor Marchbanks having designs on his virtue, but right now Harry didn't feel like laughing. Amortentia was fiendishly difficult to brew and highly volatile during the brewing process, so there was a good chance that he would be the one to test those Shield Charms before long.

 

There was nothing for it, though, so Harry gritted his teeth and set to work.

 

Soon the bubbling of boiling liquids and the sounds of chopping and stirring filled the Hall. Harry was trying to concentrate on his work, but the sickly sweet smell of the liquorice roots he was crushing made his stomach turn, and he had to take a step back to gulp in a few breaths of fresh air before he could continue. None of his classmates paid any attention to him, but out of the corner of his eye, he noticed how everyone on the board of examiners was surreptitiously watching him. Slughorn was whispering something to the Minister without taking his eyes off Harry; Shacklebolt merely nodded, his expression tense.

 

Harry quickly turned back towards his cauldron, but his hands were shaking when he reached for the jar of powdered ashwinder eggshells. It was seriously bad timing since he had now reached the trickiest part of the brewing process; ashwinder eggshells were extremely unstable and had to be added slowly and very carefully in tiny quantities if he didn't want his potion to end up on the ceiling. He unscrewed the jar and scanned the surface of his worktable for the smallest measuring spoon to make sure...

 

His hand froze in mid-move when an idea struck him. It wasn't really a conscious thought; it felt like something that had come straight out of his guts without any interference from his brain. _The choice between what is right and what is easy_ , Dumbledore's stern voice resounded in his mind, but Harry knew by now that it had been just so much window-dressing for the fact that none of the choices that had shaped his life had ever been his.

 

If that was the thing that made you a hero, it was probably time to remember that for the first time, he had another option now.

 

Slowly, as if he were waking from a dream, Harry raised the open jar over the cauldron. The sound of frantic coughing from the examiners' table startled him, and he only just managed to avoid dropping the jar into the potion. He looked up from the simmering liquid for a moment and found Draco watching him over the circle of tables. When he caught his eye, Draco quickly shook his head once – a tiny movement, but the meaning was clear. Harry, taken aback, gave a small nod back in acknowledgement; then, with a fluid twist of his hand, he tipped the jar's contents into the cauldron.


	29. Chapter 29

Harry wasn't surprised in the slightest when he entered McGonagall's office and saw the Minister for Magic sitting in the visitor's chair across from the Headmistress's desk. He'd been expecting the summons for two days – as a matter of fact, it _had_ come as a bit of a surprise that it had taken them two days to summon him.

 

"Have a seat, Mr Potter," McGonagall said briskly and conjured another chair with an impatient wave of her wand. "I think you know what this is about."

 

"The fact that I failed my Potions NEWT, I suppose," Harry answered; it came out a lot calmer than he felt. "Do you always tell students in person that they botched an exam?"

 

The Headmistress closed her eyes for a moment; she suddenly looked very old and tired. The weary expression was immediately gone when she opened her eyes again, though. "Officially, the results won't be announced for another month or so, therefore –"

 

"Professor, I blew up my cauldron, for crying out loud!" Harry interrupted her, which was probably a first, but he wasn't going to take any more dancing around the issue.

 

She gave him an icy look in return. "Yes, I remember quite vividly, Mr Potter. It's a pity no one has ever thought of casting a Shield Charm over the examiners' table during a Potions exam, but I assure you we will know better next year."

 

"Took me an hour to get the liquorice sap out of my ears," Shacklebolt added with a faint grin. "That stuff is fiendishly sticky, you know."

 

"Sorry," Harry replied with a shrug. "Don't tell me there's a chance I passed after that, though."

 

"None at all," Shacklebolt confirmed. "Professor Slughorn made a passionate argument that your written exam was so brilliant it should get you a passing grade overall, but he can't overrule the board's decision, and they won't go with it, no matter how much they might want you to pass. That's why I wanted to be present during this meeting, Harry. You know what this result would normally mean for your plans of becoming an Auror, but yesterday I had a long talk with old Wulfstan MacGraw – he's the acting Department Head, we still haven't got a permanent replacement for –"

 

Harry held up a hand to cut him off. "Let me guess: he's going to accept me into Auror training regardless of the fact that I'm not qualified."

 

Shacklebolt nodded. "He said that it would seem patently idiotic to count NEWTs with someone who –"

 

"Defeated a Dark Lord, yes, I've heard it before," Harry interrupted again. "Kingsley, are you serious? Are you really willing to bend all the rules for my sake, just so that I can have what I want no matter whether I deserve it or not?"

 

A small voice at the back of his mind that sounded suspiciously like Draco's pointed out that he should be used to it by now, but Harry did his best to ignore it.

 

Shacklebolt's face didn't give away what he thought of the question. "Most people in your situation would be quite happy about it, I'd wager."

 

"Yes, especially since it's not going to stop there, is it?" Harry shot back, remembering what Ron had said just a few days ago. "If I join now, how long until I'm Department Head? Ten years? Five?"

 

"You can't know that," Shacklebolt admonished him gravely, although Harry was sure he wasn't imagining the hint of uneasiness in the Minister's voice.

 

"I shouldn't, but I do, don't I?" Harry did nothing to keep the bitterness out of his tone. "And what's even worse, it won't matter whether I deserve _that_ or not, either. Have you ever looked at it like that?"

 

"I have, as a matter of fact," the Minister replied; he sounded dead serious now. "Harry, I still think you would make for –"

 

"Don't do it, Kingsley." Harry leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath, steeling himself. Even after everything that had happened, it was still harder than he'd expected to let go of an old dream, but he knew there was no other way. "The Ministry doesn't owe me anything, and I don't owe them anything in return. I won't be singled out all my life because of something I did before I turned twenty."

 

"It doesn't have to be like that," Shacklebolt pointed out. "You could make a career for yourself, prove that there's more to you than just the Boy Who Lived."

 

Harry shook his head. He'd given the matter a lot of thought, and he knew it was never going to work out for him like that. He hoped Shacklebolt wouldn't force him to explain himself in detail, though; there were too many issues he wasn't ready to raise. A bolt of green light flashed through his memory, combined with the dangerous, intoxicating tingling of power in his fingertips. _Don't hand me the means to destroy myself and everything I fought for._

 

"Let me fade into the background, Kingsley," he said at last. "I've been the centre of attention all my life, but I'm done with it now. People will forget. Trust me, it's better that way."

 

The announcement was followed by a long silence. Shacklebolt was idly twisting a loose thread from the hem of his sleeve around his finger; he seemed deep in thought. McGonagall's expression was stony; behind her, Harry spotted the portrait of Phineas Nigellus eyeing him curiously. He felt oddly relieved that Dumbledore's big golden picture frame was empty.

 

At long last, it was the Minister who broke the silence. "So you _did_ fail on purpose."

 

McGonagall's eyebrows shot up at this, but Harry managed to keep his expression neutral. "It doesn't matter now, does it?"

 

"Probably not," Shacklebolt replied with a shrug, "but it's a damn shame nevertheless. You're throwing away what could have been one hell of a career."

 

Harry couldn't help thinking that the wording of this statement made for a rather interesting double meaning. "And yet you haven't told me how sorry you are that I won't join the Auror Corps." Shacklebolt's shoulders stiffened ever so slightly, confirming that Harry had hit a nerve. "Admit it, Kingsley, you aren't _that_ keen on having me underfoot all the time, are you?"

 

Shacklebolt hesitated visibly before he finally admitted, "Perhaps not all that much, no. I had no idea I was that obvious, though."

 

"You shouldn't have sent your friend Quall if you didn't want to be obvious." Harry grinned as he recalled the man's scandalised expression. "You must have known that he was the perfect choice for pissing me off enough to make me spit in the Ministry's face."

 

Shacklebolt chuckled ruefully. "Poor Eustacius, I knew I could count on him." He grew serious again when he added, "Harry, I hope you don't think that I don't appreciate everything you've done, or that I'm underestimating what you've been through. Under different circumstances, I think you would have made for a damn fine Auror, and I'm truly sorry for the corps that you won't be joining them. But there are no two ways about it, you would be a political factor from the very beginning, and given how volatile things still are at the Ministry…"

 

"…you don't need a short-tempered boy hero breathing down your neck and stirring up public opinion against you whenever you piss him off somehow," Harry finished for him, remembering the talk they'd had at the beginning of the school year. Funny how unsettling the idea that the Minister for Magic was worrying about Harry's political influence had felt to him then, when he pretty much took it as a given now. If Harry had needed any confirmation that he'd made the right decision about his future, that would have been it.

 

Shacklebolt nodded. "There are still a lot of tough decisions to make, and I doubt you'll like them all. We need to bring the old pureblood clans back into the fold if we want the peace to last, and that won't be achieved without a few rather painful compromises."

 

"There's no need to explain yourself to me," Harry reminded him. "You're the Minister for Magic, and I'm still just a schoolboy, remember?"

 

"Not for much longer, though," McGonagall spoke up. "Now that you know you won't become an Auror, Mr Potter, have you decided what you want to do with your life instead?"

 

That brought Harry up short. The Headmistress was right, it was the question he should have been asking himself since last Friday at the latest, but somehow he hadn't got to it so far. McGonagall nodded grimly when she saw him hesitate; Harry had the impression she hadn't expected anything else.

 

"After the end of the exams next week, I will offer a final round of careers advice for those NEWTs students who haven't decided for themselves yet. I'd suggest you give the matter some thought in the meantime and then come see me, perhaps I can be of help."

 

"I will, Professor, thank you." Harry rose from his chair and held his hand out to the Minister. "Thank you as well, Kingsley – and good luck with everything."

 

Shacklebolt shook Harry's hand firmly. "Good luck to you too, Harry, and let me know if I can ever help you with anything."

 

There wasn't anything else left to be said, so Harry just nodded and turned to leave. He was halfway out the door when Shacklebolt called after him.

 

"Oh, before I forget – I took a look into your friend Ron Weasley's exam papers yesterday. Tell him that the character and aptitude tests will be held at the Auror office at the beginning of August, won't you?"

 

Harry grinned to himself as he rode down the revolving staircase; it felt good to be the bearer of happy news for a change.

 

* * *

 

They ended the day with an impromptu party for four in Ron and Harry's room. It was the eve of Luna and Hermione's Arithmancy NEWT, but Ron managed to convince both of them to abandon their books when he announced the news. Hermione gave a shrill whoop that didn't sound like her at all upon hearing them, and Harry half expected Ron to end up with a few broken ribs from the way she embraced him. Ron was grinning from one ear to the other; he'd been devastated on Harry's behalf two days earlier, but now Harry didn't blame him for thinking of himself first. Owls were sent out to his parents, to Bill and Fleur, and even to Charlie in Romania; meanwhile Luna wandered down to the kitchen and came back with a hamper full of cauldron cakes and butterbeer.

 

They all settled down on Harry's bed – he'd be sleeping on a heap of crumbs tonight, but he reckoned it was worth it – and toasted Ron's success and future career in the DMLE. Harry could tell that it cost Hermione some effort not to point out how Ron still had a lot of tests to pass before he was even accepted into training, and he appreciated that she held her tongue for Ron's sake. Luna seemed to have overcome her dislike for the Auror Corps now that she knew Harry wasn't going to join, and she kept making up a number of extremely surreal crime scenarios that Ron was going to resolve single-handedly.

 

"It's just too bad that we won't go into training together, mate," Ron said ruefully while he uncorked another bottle. "I was so looking forward to chasing Dark Wizards with you!"

 

"Eager for another camping trip, are you?" Harry shot back, belatedly wondering whether the elves had spiced the butterbeer because he hadn't expected that he would ever be ready to joke about that. "You'll be doing fine without me."

 

"Yes, but it would have been fun." Ron took a swig and wrapped his free arm around Hermione's shoulders. "So what are you going to do instead?"

 

Harry shrugged. "No idea yet. I'll think of something."

 

"I haven't decided yet either," Hermione threw in. "There are several openings at the Ministry that look promising…"

 

"Yes, but first we're going to travel, aren't we?" Ron tightened his arm around her shoulders. "Have you heard yet, Harry? Hermione's parents are taking us on a trip round the world this summer – the Muggle way! They say I should see a bit more of how Muggles live…"

 

Hermione smiled softly, and Harry guessed there was more to the matter; hopefully this was a sign that things were looking up between her and her parents. "That sounds great," he said with conviction. "When are you leaving?"

 

"Right after the leaving feast. We've scheduled everything so that we'll be back in time for the aptitude tests," Ron replied, looking faintly embarrassed. "Dad found out for me in advance when they were going to be held – although I was a bit afraid that I was going to jinx things…"

 

"That is superstitious nonsense," Luna reminded him sternly. "Seriously, people believe in the oddest things while they steadfastly deny the existence of –"

 

"Crumple-Horned Snorkacks!" the other three chorused before she could finish.

 

Hermione burst into a fit of giggles, but Luna raised a pale eyebrow in a way that reminded Harry eerily of Draco Malfoy. "I was going to mention Blibbering Humdingers, as a matter of fact," she said mildly, which caused another fit of giggles from Hermione. _Definitely spiced_ , Harry thought while he took another sip of butterbeer, but he didn't mind very much; it felt too good to just fool around like that, like a bunch of carefree schoolchildren they would never be again in their lives. He did his best not to think of how soon he and his friends would have to part ways; tonight, they were celebrating, and everything else could wait until tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

Harry had promised McGonagall that he would think about his plans for his future, but he was still none the wiser by the end of the following week, when he was scheduled to meet her for his careers appointment.

 

It was early evening on Friday when he climbed through the portrait hole. Several of his classmates had already had similar meetings during the day, but Harry hadn't talked to any of them (except Neville, who already knew what he wanted to do and had only gone to ask McGonagall for a letter of recommendation), so he wasn't quite sure what to expect this time. Things had definitely been easier during fifth year when he'd gone to her with a very clear idea of what he wanted to do with his life.

 

He was a bit early for his appointment, so he had to wait in front of the gargoyle until the Headmistress was finished with the student before him. When the staircase finally began moving downward, Harry took a step to the side to let the person coming out of McGonagall's office pass, but he froze in his tracks when that person turned out to be Ginny.

 

They stood staring at each other in silence for a second. Harry hadn't talked to her in months, and now he noticed for the first time how thin she had become, how there were faint lines between her nose and the corners of her mouth that made her look tired and much older than she was. His heart went out to her, and he felt a pang of guilt for abandoning her so completely during a time that must have been hard for her. Her eyes, however, were as he remembered them from their last talk, the blazing look he had always admired now cold and strangely flat.

 

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again, realising belatedly that he had no idea what to say. He finally settled on a rather weak, "Hello, Ginny."

 

"Hi." Ginny crossed her arms over her chest in a gesture that reminded Harry a bit of Mrs Weasley. "You can go up, she's awaiting you."

 

"Thanks." Harry hesitated for a moment before asking, "How did it go?"

 

Ginny shrugged. "There wasn't much to talk about for me, I already know what I'm going to do."

 

"Really?" Harry couldn't help wondering why Ron had never mentioned that. Thinking of it, he realised belatedly Ron hadn't mentioned Ginny to him at all for months. "What –"

 

"Charlie's boss offered me a job," Ginny answered before he could finish the question. "They need someone who's a good flier and has the guts to work with dragons."

 

Harry stared at her, aghast. "You're going to Romania?"

 

"Next week." Ginny tucked a strand of her fiery hair behind her ear, her eyes never leaving his. "I won't wait until the leaving feast, they're in the middle of the hatching season, and there's a lot of work to do."

 

"Oh." Harry had no idea what to say; the idea that her mother would let Ginny work with fire-breathing lizards half a continent away seemed too bizarre to wrap his mind around it. "I didn't know – I mean, I –"

 

"Don't," Ginny interrupted him fiercely, the cool facade cracking. "Whatever you were about to say, don't say it. Don't say you're sorry, don't promise to write me, and don't you _dare_ to tell me that you'll miss me."

 

Harry watched her silently for a moment, his mind stuck on the fact that couldn't for the life of him remember ever writing her a letter before. He wanted to feel sorrow, or pain, or shock, anything beside the faint, strangely empty sensation of loss at the realisation that he _wasn't_ going to miss her.

 

At long last, he held out his hand; he would have preferred to hug her, but he doubted she'd welcome it. "Good luck, Ginny."

 

He cringed inwardly at the stilted sound of the words, but they seemed to calm her, because her face relaxed into an expression that finally made him recognise the girl he'd fallen in love with two years ago that felt like a lifetime now. She took his hand, and there was a hint of the old Ginny in the sound of her voice when she said softly, "To you too, Harry."

 

Then she quickly let go and turned away. Harry stood in silence and watched her walk away from him until she disappeared behind a corner at the end of the corridor.


	30. Chapter 30

"Have a seat, Mr Potter."

 

McGonagall's expression was stern as ever, although Harry had the feeling that she was uncomfortable somehow. It was rather unexpected; surely counselling him on his career options could not be that unsettling to her. Behind her back, Phineas Nigellus was sneering at him, but most of the other portraits were still gone from their frames. It made Harry wonder whether McGonagall was keeping her predecessors out of her office on purpose, because as far as he could remember, none of the frames had ever been empty back in Dumbledore's day.

 

He sat down in the visitor's chair in front of her desk and, when she didn't speak immediately, decided to get right to the point. "I've thought about the matter a lot this past week, Professor, but I'm afraid I still don't know what I want to do after school. I'd appreciate any advice you can give me."

 

He meant what he'd said; even after a week of wracking his brain, he had no idea what he was going to do with the multitude of choices he'd been offered so unexpectedly. He couldn't even have said which fields of work interested him most; all he could think of were things he _didn't_ want to do. He'd lain awake for quite a while last night, pondering the issue with a growing sense of desperation. At some point he'd had a brief vision of ending up wearing a greasy apron behind the bar at the Leaky Cauldron; the image had made for some rather weird dreams once he'd finally managed to fall asleep.

 

McGonagall cleared her throat. "To be perfectly honest, Mr Potter, I find myself in a somewhat awkward position. As your teacher, I consider it my responsibility to help you choose the kind of career that's best suited for you – but as headmistress, I have to ask you something that's probably more in the school's best interests than in yours."

 

Harry frowned. The opening sounded ominous enough, but he wasn't all that worried since he couldn't think of anything truly horrible that McGonagall might ask of him. "The school's best interests? You're not offering me the Defence post, are you?"

 

He had meant it as a joke, but there was no mistaking the way McGonagall tensed ever so slightly. Harry felt his eyes go wide; suddenly all he could think of was the scene in this very room he'd witnessed in Dumbledore's Pensieve, the memory of Tom Riddle asking the Headmaster to let him come back to Hogwarts to teach.

 

"You _are_ offering me the Defence post." McGonagall remained silent, as if she weren't sure what to reply. Harry was still trying to wrap his mind around the idea and failing quite miserably. "Professor, no offence, but you can't be serious. Of all the things I'm not suited to be, teacher is probably among the top three on the list!"

 

"Really." The lines creasing McGonagall's forehead deepened when she raised her eyebrows. "And yet you taught your classmates behind your teacher's back when you were fifteen, and now helped teaching NEWT-level Defence for a whole year. I don't know about you, Mr Potter, but that's not exactly my definition of not being suited for the job."

 

She grew very serious when she continued. "I won't lie to you, I'm not making this offer because you would be the ideal candidate for the job. I'm asking because I have tried for almost a year now to find a new Defence teacher, but I haven't been successful so far."

 

"But Snape's portrait –"

 

"– is no solution, and I think you know that very well," she cut him off. "A portrait just can't fulfil all the duties of a teacher – you saw for yourself how much work there was left for you and Mr Malfoy, and most of the younger students who were assisting with the teaching weren't up to the task at all. We can't go on like this for another year, and Professor Snape was the first to realise it, because he informed me months ago that he won't teach any more next year."

 

Harry frowned at Snape's empty picture frame in the corner. "Don't tell me he suggested that you should ask _me_ to take over from him!"

 

She gave him a thin-lipped smile. "Indeed not, Mr Potter. He suggested that I should ask Mr Malfoy."

 

"Malfoy?" Harry had trouble believing that he'd heard her correctly. " _Draco Malfoy_? Has he lost his mind? As if people would ever put up with a –"

 

McGonagall held up her hand, interrupting him again. "The point is moot; Mr Malfoy has already accepted a different job offer. I admit that I might have asked him otherwise, though – like I said, I haven't been able to find someone so far. Voldemort may be gone, but rumours that he somehow cursed the Defence position are still about, and given the fates of the last few Defence teachers we've had…"

 

She didn't finish, but there was no need to; Harry closed his eyes for a moment, trying in vain not to think of Remus' cold body on the stone floor of the Great Hall.

 

"But he's gone for good this time, isn't he?" He hated the way his question came out; to his ears, he sounded like a petulant child. "If there ever was a curse, surely it was broken when he died?"

 

"I'm convinced that it was," McGonagall replied gravely. "Unfortunately, it doesn't matter very much what I think about the matter. Fact is, I couldn't find a replacement, so I'm facing a bit of a dilemma right now."

 

"And that's when you thought of me?" Harry couldn't help the bitter note that had slipped into this tone; hadn't he made it clear that he was done with being everyone's default saviour?

 

"No, to be honest." McGonagall leaned forward in her chair, fixating him with a look that was no less intense than Dumbledore's had been. Harry stubbornly didn't avert his eyes, although he found it rather difficult not to fidget under the scrutiny. "I never would have asked you if I hadn't witnessed your talk with Minister Shacklebolt last week. Before that, I was convinced that, no matter what you'd been through, you were still a long way away from the level of maturity that I expect from a teacher. I changed my mind, though, when I heard what you had to say to the Minister."

 

" _That_ made you think that I'm mature enough to teach?" Harry shook his head in astonishment; right now he felt like an obstinate schoolboy when he thought back to his talk with Kingsley. "Sorry, but I'm afraid you've lost me, Professor."

 

The corner of her mouth went up for a second. "Don't let it concern you, Mr Potter. No matter how desperate I might be, I wouldn't offer you the post if I didn't think you were up to the task. I'm not asking you to teach for the rest of your life – just for two or three years, long enough to make people understand that it's not dangerous any more to teach Defence at Hogwarts. It would also give you time to decide what you _really_ want to do with your life."

 

Harry bit his lip, thinking furiously. The suggestion made sense from a purely logical point of view. He would be given another respite before he had to choose a life for himself, and he could help McGonagall out in the process – her and the only place where he'd ever truly felt at home in his life. Again he was reminded of Tom Riddle, but he did his best to push the thought aside.

 

And yet the mere idea of becoming a teacher, even temporarily, seemed utterly ridiculous. There was a reason they hadn't let Tom Riddle teach at eighteen, even if he had been their most brilliant student – you had to be an adult first before you could teach children, and right now Harry felt that he still had a long, long way ahead of him before he reached that level of maturity. McGonagall might think so, but Harry wasn't convinced that telling the Minister no had anything to do with being all grown up. He'd managed to cross ministers since he'd been thirteen, after all, and it was only now, looking back, that he realised just _how_ much of a child he had still been then.

 

"I'm not sure what to say," he confessed at last. "Everything else aside – Professor, I'm good at practical Defence, but Snape always reminded me how clueless I am about magical theory, and I don't think I –"

 

"Ah yes," McGonagall cut him off, suddenly all business. "Professor Snape has assured me that, should I find a promising candidate, he would gladly share his knowledge and experience beforehand to help that person prepare for the post. Just in case the candidate needed it, of course."

 

Her expression was deadpan, but Harry was sure that he saw a little sparkle in her eyes that looked downright mischievous, which was a _very_ strange look on her. "Professor, you must be aware that he was thinking of Malfoy, not me, when he said that."

 

McGonagall shrugged. "He didn't specify that, so I'll assume that he'll keep his promise no matter who I choose."

 

"But – " Harry felt himself running out of logical reasons to refuse. "But I hate marking essays!"

 

The Headmistress leaned forward again, and Harry noticed with some alarm that the sparkle was back in her eyes. "I'll share one of the darkest secrets of my craft with you, Mr Potter: _every_ teacher does. You get used to it, but you never, ever stop hating it with every fibre of your being."

 

Harry remained silent; he could think of no further objections, but that didn't mean he liked the idea any better. At long last, McGonagall took pity on him.

 

"I don't expect you to answer me right away. There's still a week left until the Leaving Feast; I suggest that you use it to consider my offer. Don't hesitate to come see me whenever you wish if there's anything else you want to discuss with me in the meantime."

 

* * *

 

The last week at Hogwarts passed in a strange kind of blur for Harry. There wasn't much left to do apart from packing, and he felt as if an invisible barrier was separating him from the buzz of excited expectation that had settled over his classmates, who were all occupied with plans, whether they were just about the summer ahead of them or about their whole life. He wasn't the only one who still hadn't made up his mind about his future career, and yet he felt that everyone else was looking forward with a sense of impatient anticipation; he alone would have loved nothing better than to stop the flow of time to postpone the moment when he would have to say goodbye to the place that had been the only real home he'd ever known, and to the people he had come to consider his family.

 

He knew that he was being maudlin, that he wasn't going to lose his friends just because he wouldn't meet them at breakfast every day any more, and that McGonagall's offer meant there even was a chance he wouldn't leave Hogwarts at all anytime soon. Still, no matter how he decided, the familiar life of a schoolboy would be over for good, and there was no telling yet what kind of life would replace it. He felt adrift, like a boat without oars out at sea; all he could do was hang on and see where it would take him.

 

Harry found himself envying Luna, who was so excited about her future work that she talked of little else, and Hermione, who kept poring over Ministry leaflets and made long lists about the pros and cons of every possible job she was considering. Ron had a faraway look on his face most of the time, and Harry could only guess what kind of scenarios Ron was imagining for his future work in the Auror Corps.

 

It was only he who still had no clue what to do with himself, and whether he should accept McGonagall's offer since he obviously couldn't come up with a better idea. He'd only told Ron, Hermione, and Luna about it, and reactions had been mixed: Luna was convinced that he would like teaching so much that he would decide to do it for the rest of his life once he'd tried it for real; Hermione was sceptical, but still seemed to think that he should accept the offer since the school needed him, and Ron was so horrified by the idea of Harry becoming a teacher that it made Harry feel a lot better about his own initial reaction to it.

 

There were moments when he found himself morbidly curious about what Draco would say if he knew Harry had been offered a job that Snape had wanted _him_ to have. He hadn't spoken a word with Draco ever since the day of his failed Potions NEWT, although he was still wondering whether Draco had really meant to warn him during the practical. A year ago he would have dismissed the idea out of hand, but a lot had happened since then.

 

* * *

 

Harry didn't feel ready at all when he met Luna in the corridor outside her room to accompany her to the Leaving Feast. He knew that this would be their last evening as a not-quite-couple, and most likely their last night together afterwards since Luna was going to leave the following morning, but it still seemed unreal somehow, as if he had just imagined the end of his time at school and was going to wake up to another day of lessons the next morning.

 

The Great Hall was decked in blue and bronze. Ravenclaw had won the House Cup by a hair's breadth, with Hufflepuff coming to a close second place. Gryffindor and Slytherin were tied in third – Slytherin had less than half the number of students the other houses had, and even winning the Quidditch Cup had only helped them to avoid being last; meanwhile, Gryffindor had never managed to make up for the one hundred points Ginny had lost them at the beginning of the year. Harry didn't even glance at the banners; the times when house points had mattered seemed a century in the past, although he couldn't help remembering what Draco had said about giving his Slytherins reason to hold their head high.

 

He let the feast pass him by as if he were watching a play that didn't particularly interest him; the invisible barrier separating him from everyone else felt stronger than ever. McGonagall gave a speech, but Harry barely listened. Once the food had appeared on the tables, he ate mechanically without really paying attention to what he was eating; all around him, his classmates were chattering excitedly, but he couldn't bring himself to join in. If Ron and Hermione noticed, they didn't say anything, although Ron kept shooting surreptitious glances in Harry's direction when he thought Harry wasn't looking.

 

Harry got up from the table as soon as his plate was empty. The feast would probably go on for a while longer, but he suddenly couldn't wait to get away. He'd meet Luna in her room later, and there would still be time to bid everyone else good-bye the next morning. Right now, all he wanted was a bit of time for himself before he had to face the fact that his student years were well and truly over.

 

He went back to his dormitory, where Ron's trunk already stood neatly packed while most of Harry's belongings were scattered haphazardly across his half of the room. He had been reluctant to start packing so far, but now seemed a good time to get it done; at least it would give him something to do until Ron came back from the feast.

 

Harry couldn't help remembering Tonks' packing spell, which he'd never been able to cast properly himself, as he folded his clothes, stacked his books and sifted through the junk that had gathered at the bottom of his trunk in the course of the school year. He threw out a couple of broken quills, lots of chocolate frog cards, and several old essays that he definitely wouldn't need any more; however, he didn't touch the small bottle, carefully wrapped in a pair of thick woollen socks, that held the memories he hadn't wanted Lucius Malfoy to see. He knew he would have to put them back where they belonged some day, but right now he thought it best if they stayed right where they were.

 

Unwilling to dwell on the matter, Harry hastily reached for a scrap of parchment that held notes for an essay he had finished months ago. Underneath, he discovered another sock-wrapped bundle, thinner and more oblong than the other, that he had completely forgotten during the last months.

 

He hesitated for a moment before reaching into the trunk again and taking it out. It felt lighter than he remembered, as if its essence had faded away during the time it had been hidden. He held it for a moment, his thoughts racing; _a flash of green light that cut through the death-filled gloom, never reaching its target -_

 

There was one more matter to settle tonight. Harry quickly got up and made for the door before he could reconsider – he would probably regret this tomorrow, but right now it seemed like the right thing to do, even if he would have been hard-pressed to say why.

 


	31. Chapter 31

"Hey, Malfoy!"

 

Draco had been about to follow Blaise Zabini down the staircase that led to the Slytherin dungeons, but he stopped and turned around when Harry called him. Zabini briefly glanced back over his shoulder and made a face; he seemed about to say something, but Draco shot him a glare that made him walk away with a barely noticeable shrug. Under different circumstances, Harry might have wondered what that exchange had been about, but right now he wanted to get this over with while he was alone with Draco in the corridor; it probably wouldn't take long until more Slytherin students started leaving the feast.

 

It was only when he opened his mouth to speak that he realised he hadn't really thought about what he was going to say. His hesitation wasn't lost on Draco, who raised an eyebrow and tapped his foot in an exaggerated show of impatience. "Was there anything you wanted from me, Potter?"

 

"Er, yes. I mean, no." Harry quickly gave up the attempt to come up with any kind of explanation. "I just wanted to give you this." He held out his hand, remembering a second too late that he'd forgotten to unwrap the bundle first.

 

Draco's face turned stony at the sight of one of Dudley's cast-off socks. "If that's supposed to be a joke, I'm not laughing. I'm not a house-elf!"

 

"Oh, for –" Feeling extremely silly, Harry ripped the sock off. "Just take the damned thing, all right?"

 

Now that it was no longer hidden under a layer of threadbare wool, the Hawthorn wand felt surprisingly familiar in his hand, as if it hadn't been more than a year that he'd last used it. Again, Harry found himself remembering the flash of green coming towards him, yet never touching him, and for a split second he regretted his rash decision to let go of the wand that had served him so well against his greatest enemy.

 

Still, it was almost comical to watch how Draco's expression changed completely – his eyes went wide, his cheeks reddened, and for a moment he seemed uncertain how to react. His hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach for the wand, but he clenched it into a fist and kept it by his side.

 

"You're giving me back my wand? Why?"

 

"Why do you care?" Harry asked, a tad defensive. "It's yours, and you've been whining about it all year. Are you going to take it back now, or do you want me to keep it as a souvenir?"

 

He fully expected Draco to snatch the wand out of his hand at this, but Draco reached out slowly and took it with great care, as if he were afraid it might break if he grasped it too tightly. He merely held it for a moment, running his thumb over the smoothly polished wood of the handle with a small frown; then he gave it an experimental flick that left a trail of silver sparks in the air.

 

There was a strange edge to his voice when he finally said, "Seems you took reasonably good care of it."

 

Harry shrugged; as thanks went, this was already more than he'd expected. "Yeah, well, you're welcome."

 

"Am I?" Draco twirled the wand around his finger twice and then caught it deftly; it looked like a trick he'd practised hundreds of times to make it seem effortless. "I doubt you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart, Potter. What do you want in return?"

 

Harry frowned; this idea definitely hadn't occurred to him. The only thing he might have asked from Draco was to be well and truly gone from his life, but he'd long ago resigned himself to the fact that thanks to Lucius Malfoy's scheming, it would likely never happen. It had probably been Lucius too who had taught Draco to expect a price to come with every favour. "Is that how things are done in Slytherin?"

 

"No, it's how things are done all over the world," Draco shot back; it wasn't lost on Harry how he still wasn't pocketing the wand. "I repeat, what do you want from me? What _could_ you possibly want, given that you've just demonstrated how you don't accept my help, even when I'm offering it?"

 

"Eh?" It took Harry a moment to understand what Draco was referring to. "Wait – you thought I didn't believe you when you tried to warn me about the ashwinder eggshells?"

 

"Yes, of course I – " Draco fell silent, his eyes widening for the second time this night. "Do you mean that you understood what I was trying to tell you? And that you _knew_ I was right?"

 

"Of course I did." Harry realised that he no longer wanted to end this conversation as quickly as possible, now that he might get to the bottom of this; the question what Draco had been playing at had bothered him ever since the exam. "Are you going to tell me why you tried to help me?"

 

At long last, Draco made a great show of shoving the wand into his pocket; it seemed to Harry that he was stalling for time. When he looked up again, his expression was deadpan. "Only if you tell me first why you deliberately blew up your cauldron."

 

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and pressed his lips together. He was fine with Shacklebolt guessing at his reason for botching the exam, but there was no way he was ever going to share it with Draco. There was silence for a moment; then Draco said with a smirk that wasn't quite as venomous as his usual sneer, "Thought so."

 

"What's it to you?" Harry hadn't meant to sound so belligerent, but Draco didn't take the bait anyway; he merely shrugged.

 

"I couldn't care less. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get my trunk, I'm leaving in less than an hour."

 

"Oh." Harry had no idea why his stomach gave a strange lurch at this; it looked like he hadn't noticed just how used he'd got to the constant irritation of Draco's presence throughout the school year. "McGonagall said you already accepted a job offer."

 

Draco cocked his head. "Gossiping with the Headmistress about me, Potter?"

 

Harry rolled his eyes. "She just mentioned it, she didn't tell me any details."

 

Draco shrugged again. "It's hardly a secret. I'll start working as a curse breaker for Gringotts, and they want me to begin my apprenticeship right away." He grinned, but it turned out a bit lopsided. "The Minister had a hand in this; I suppose he thought that given who I am, I'd be less trouble working for the goblins. Seems my new fame as Greyback's killer will only get me so far among wizards."

 

Harry bit back the question whether Draco knew that one of his future colleagues was a man who was disfigured for life because Draco had let Greyback into the school. Perhaps it would count for something that Bill Weasley too believed that it had been Draco who had finished Greyback in the end.

 

"I suppose you're well qualified to work with cursed objects." He had meant it as a neutral observation, since he'd witnessed Draco's familiarity with the Dark Arts firsthand during the school year; only when Draco stiffened did he realise how his remark had come out. An image of a screaming Katie Bell suspended in mid-air flashed through his mind, but the sudden spike of resentment quickly faded at the memory of Draco's terrified expression when he'd faced Dumbledore on the Astronomy Tower. Draco was a nasty piece of work, but Dumbledore had been right that he was not a killer, and after everything that had happened during the last months, Harry was only too aware that _he_ of all people had lost the right to judge his former arch-enemy for the mistakes he'd made.

 

Draco, of course, had no way of knowing what went through Harry's mind, and from his expression, it was obvious that the supposed jab had hit right home. "Well, forgive me if I, unlike you, have to settle for a job I'm qualified for. Do they even make you go through Auror training first, Potter, or will they just hand you the whole Department tomorrow?"

 

Back when Ron had made a remark in the same vein, Harry had found it disturbing, but hearing it out of Draco's mouth now just made him angry.

 

"You saw me fail my Potions NEWT, Malfoy, so you bloody well know I can't be an Auror."

 

Draco's face twisted as if he'd bitten into something sour. "You want me to believe they're not bending the rules for the Chosen One? Pull the other one."

 

"They're not," Harry stated flatly. _Not for a lack of trying_ , his traitorous mind added, but of course he didn't say that. "If you absolutely have to know, Malfoy, I'm going to teach Defence at Hogwarts next year."

 

Draco's jaw dropped at this, but it was nothing compared to Harry's own surprise at hearing the words coming out of his mouth. He still had no idea whether he even wanted the position, so what had come over him to tell Draco of all people that he was going to accept it?

 

"Oh my God." Draco seemed torn between indignation and laughter. "I had no idea that things were this desperate at Hogwarts. Potter, you're good at throwing hexes, but you don't know the first thing about Dark Magic!"

 

There was no denying that, so Harry did his best to appear blasé about it. "So what? I'm capable of learning, and Snape has agreed to tutor me in the beginning."

 

" _Snape_?" Now Draco was laughing in Harry's face. "Before or after that pig flew by his portrait?"

 

"Sod off, Malfoy." Harry's anger evaporated, leaving only the all-too familiar feeling of exhaustion behind. "I'm not sure you've noticed, but a lot of things have changed."

 

"Really." Draco had grown serious again; there was a calculating expression on his face that made Harry slightly uneasy. "In that case, have a nice life, Potter."

 

Harry stared at the hand that Draco was holding out towards him; the challenge couldn't have been clearer. For a moment, he was tempted to cross his arms over his chest, but then he squared his shoulders, clenched his teeth and took Draco's hand, squeezing it as firmly as possible. "You too, Malfoy."

 

Draco inclined his head, his eyes never leaving Harry; then he quickly let go, turned on his heel and disappeared down the stairs to the dungeons.

 

Harry stood motionless and stared after him until the sound of Draco's footsteps had faded in the distance. His mind was strangely blank, and he only snapped out of it when he heard a group of younger Slytherins approaching from the Great Hall. He had no wish to be seen hanging around the entrance to the dungeons, but he didn't feel like returning to his packing either, so he finally set out towards the Ravenclaw Tower to check whether Luna had already come back from the Leaving Feast.

 

* * *

 

Harry was startled awake by a loud bang, as if someone had dropped something heavy right next to his bed. The room seemed to tilt sideways when he sat up too quickly, and it took him a moment until his head stopped spinning.

 

"Are you all right, Harry?" He hadn't noticed Luna before, but now she was by his side and put a cool hand on his bare shoulder. "I didn't want to wake you before it was necessary, but I'm about to leave now."

 

Harry noticed only now that she was fully dressed. She wasn't wearing school robes any more; instead, she had put on a pair of faded jeans and the jumper that Mrs Weasley had made her for Christmas. Her hair was done up in a tight bun, and it struck Harry how grown-up she looked like this – a far cry from the schoolgirl who had been his almost-girlfriend all those past months. His stomach felt like lead when he leaned in to kiss her good morning, the memory of the way her skin had felt against his just a few hours ago still vivid in his mind. This, too, was over now – they'd always known it would end like this, but it was only now that he began to realise just how much he was going to miss her.

 

Luna pulled back after a moment and smiled at him. "See, all better now. When are Ron and Hermione leaving?"

 

Harry glanced at his watch on the bedside table. "Ten o'clock, there's still plenty of time. Are you sure you don't want me to accompany you to the carriage?"

 

"Yes, I'm sure." Luna scanned her room once again, checking whether she had missed any of her belongings. "You know, packing was so much easier this year when nobody was hiding my things any more."

 

"The perks of being Head Girl," Harry grinned, although he wasn't happy with the light-hearted tone of the conversation. There was a lot he still wanted to say to her, but somehow he couldn't find the words to express what was going through his mind. It had always been so easy to confide in her, why was he suddenly finding himself tongue-tied now?

 

The thought brought back memories of the day before. He'd had better things to do with Luna the previous evening than to discuss his career plans, but now he wanted her to be the first to know.

 

"It seems that I've agreed to accept the Defence post, by the way."

 

Luna beamed at him. "Oh, Harry, that's great! I so hoped you would – I'm sure you'll love being a teacher! McGonagall must be thrilled!"

 

"Um." Harry felt a blush creep up his cheeks. "She doesn't know yet, actually."

 

Luna's eyebrows shot up. "I don't think you can avoid telling her, you know. What did Ron and Hermione say?"

 

"They don't know yet either." Anticipating her next question, Harry quickly added, "I had a talk with Malfoy about it yesterday evening when I gave him back his wand."

 

Luna cocked her head to the side; it made her look a bit like a curious kitten. "That's an interesting way to go about it. I thought you weren't going to return his wand?"

 

Harry shrugged. "I reconsidered."

 

"I'm glad you did."

 

Luna didn't ask further, for which Harry was grateful; he would have been hard-pressed himself to say why he'd decided to let Draco have the Hawthorn wand again. It had certainly been the right thing to do – the wand wasn't his, and now that it had served its purpose, it wasn't as if he still had need of it. However, Harry was only too aware that doing the right thing hadn't always been his main concern when it came to Draco Malfoy. Perhaps, the rational part of his brain spoke up, it had been a smart decision from a purely selfish point of view: the likeliness of Draco ever finding himself in enough trouble to need Harry's help was probably smaller if the git had his own wand at his disposal.

 

He didn't want to waste any more time thinking about Draco now, though. Harry wound an arm around Luna's waist, inhaling the familiar scent of peppermint and patchouli with a pang of yearning as if she were already gone. "I'll miss you, you know."

 

"I'll miss you too," Luna replied earnestly, "but you know I won't be that far away, don't you? If you're going to stay at Hogwarts, we could meet at Hogsmeade for a drink every now and then."

 

"I'd like that." Harry reached out to brush a stray wisp of hair away from her face. "And I'm going to write." He meant it, too; he'd never been much of a letter writer, but he really wanted to stay in touch with Luna. It was a bit different with Ron and Hermione: these two were so clearly a part of his life that Harry couldn't fathom ever losing sight of them, no matter where their respective careers took them, but he wasn't as certain about Luna yet, and the thought that he might lose her completely one day was painful to contemplate.

 

"I'm sure we'll both have a lot to write about!" Luna sounded excited, and once more Harry found himself envying her for her enthusiasm. "I really must be leaving now, Harry, but I'll hear from you soon, won't I?"

 

"Yes, of course you will." Harry was glad that Luna wasn't the type of girl to go for a long, drawn-out farewell; she kissed him once more, then disentangled herself from his arms and got up from the bed.

 

" _Alohomora_ , _Locomotor trunk_!"

 

Harry pulled his knees up to his chest and watched her wave her wand to direct her luggage through the open door and out into the corridor. Luna was about to step out of the room herself when he called out to her. "Luna?"

 

She turned around on the threshold with an expression that made it clear she'd been waiting for him to call her back. "Yes?"

 

Harry did his best to give her a carefree smile as he asked, "Friends?"

 

Luna's face lit up in a way that reminded him of the sun breaking through the clouds, and her eyes were shining when she answered simply, "Always."

 

Then she was gone, the heavy wooden door falling shut behind her. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in the lingering fragrance and trying to etch that last expression on her face into his memory. He still had a long day full of good-byes ahead of him before he got to face his own future, and right now he very much wished that he'd be able to muster up at least a little bit of Luna's enthusiasm for it.


	32. Chapter 32

"…most of the teachers' quarters are on the lower floors, but I thought that you might prefer this. It's not Gryffindor Tower, but we're right under the roof of the west wing here, and the view over the lake is quite nice."

 

McGonagall didn't wait for Harry's reply; the heavy wooden door swung open at a wave of her wand. "You're free to put up any kind of security measures that you see fit, but I suppose there will be no need before the students return in September." She stepped over the threshold and gestured for Harry to follow her. Harry did, although the whole scene felt bizarrely unreal to him; ever since he'd seen the Ministry car that had taken Ron and Hermione away from Hogwarts disappear in the distance, he'd felt as if he were walking through a dream from which he was going to wake up any moment.

 

"Here's your study, the sitting room, and the bedroom is through that door." McGonagall gave him a quick sidelong glance before she continued, "You can always make changes if you don't like the rooms as they are now. I've asked the house-elves to bring your luggage, and they will help you with anything else you need. They'll also serve your meals here if you ask them to, but I'd prefer it if you came down to the Great Hall to eat with the other teachers. Most of the staff are staying during the holidays this year, so you won't find yourself alone in an empty castle."

 

Harry nodded glumly. He wasn't sure whether any of the teachers were staying for his sake, and right now he didn't care. Even though the last students had only left a few hours ago, Hogwarts already seemed like a totally different place than the school he'd considered home for so long, the empty corridors and echoing halls suddenly feeling cold and forbidding. Harry was profusely glad that he wasn't going to be left behind here with no other company than a few ghosts and a sneering portrait all summer.

 

"I've had this put up by your desk, so that Professor Snape won't have any trouble helping you with your preparations." The Headmistress pointed at a huge canvas that showed a nondescript, rather gloomy landscape. Harry half expected Snape to come into view any moment, and he made a mental note to have a curtain installed in front of that picture as soon as possible. He knew there was no way around working with Snape, but, portrait or no, he wasn't going to allow Snape to turn up in his rooms whenever he chose.

 

If McGonagall noticed that he still hadn't said anything, she showed no reaction to it. "If there's anything else you need, you know you just have to tell me, don't you?" It was obvious that she wasn't talking about his quarters anymore, and even though Harry didn't think there was anything the Headmistress would be able to do about the fact that he felt like a blind man feeling his way through an unfamiliar room, he still forced himself to nod.

 

"Yes, I –" For some reason, his voice wouldn't obey him; he had to clear his throat before he was able to finish, "I know, Professor. Thank you."

 

McGonagall inclined her head, her businesslike expression softening. "Then I'll let you unpack and make yourself comfortable. I'll see you at dinner, Professor Potter."

 

_Professor Potter_. Harry couldn't get the sound of it out of his mind when he slowly started unpacking his trunk; it sounded so ridiculous that his first thought had been that the Headmistress was mocking him somehow. He knew he was being stupid, of course; less than two hours ago, he'd signed his work contract, which technically made him a Hogwarts professor, no matter how he felt about it.

 

It didn't help that the first thing he found when he opened his trunk were his old student robes, which he was never going to wear again; he would have to make a trip to Diagon Alley at some point to get a whole new set of clothes.

 

With a sigh, Harry levitated his trunk into the bedroom. There was a huge wardrobe next to the four-poster bed that had enough space for twenty times the amount of clothes he owned at the moment, and he stuffed his student robes into the back of the bottom drawer where he was unlikely to come across them by accident. It didn't take him long to put the rest of his belongings away, and he began to feel a bit better when he placed the picture of Teddy on his bedside table and then went back to the study to put Luna's Fwooper quill on his desk. The quarters were nice enough, light and airy with dark-red curtains in front of the tall windows, thick, soft rugs on the stone floor and a huge fireplace with two high-backed armchairs in the sitting room; perhaps it wouldn't be so difficult to start feeling at home here.

 

The study, however, made Harry feel like a child who had snuck into his teacher's office and was playing make-believe there. His few schoolbooks took up hardly any space on the bookshelves that covered a whole wall of the study, and it took him a while until he could bring himself to sit down on the heavy wooden chair behind the huge desk. It seemed too absurd to contemplate that there might soon be students standing in front of this desk to have him berate them for a poor performance in his class or hand out detentions for using magic in the corridors. Even though there was no sign of Snape in the picture frame on the wall to Harry's right, he couldn't shake off the impression that he was being watched – and mocked for even thinking that he might ever be able to fulfil the part he'd foolishly agreed to play.

 

What had Hermione said when she'd bid him good-bye in the morning? _I know you'll be doing fine, Harry_. Harry wished he could share her confidence, because right now he'd have loved nothing better than to go to McGonagall's office and tell her that he had reconsidered. He wasn't going to do it, of course; he'd made a commitment, and he wouldn't chicken out now just because he was getting cold feet. He'd been through so much worse, after all, and he had every reason to hope for a future that would look much brighter than the past, while so many others were still mourning their losses and trying to find ways to live with their grief.

 

That train of thought brought back memories of Ron's parents, who had been at Hogwarts just this morning to pick up Ron and Hermione, and of the stab of guilt he'd felt when he'd seen the deep new lines in their faces and the white threads in Molly Weasley's hair. Harry hadn't missed the tears in her eyes when she'd caught him up in a rib-crushing embrace, and he still wasn't sure whether he should accept her invitation to visit the Burrow over the holidays. Seeing the Weasleys again had reminded him just how much he missed being treated like a part of their family, but he couldn't help wondering whether his presence wasn't making things harder for them than they already were. He knew they weren't blaming him, neither for Fred's death nor for the fact that things hadn't worked out between him and Ginny, but he still felt that he'd made them pay a high price for all the kindness they'd shown him.

 

Of course, he also knew that Ron would cuff him over the head for having ideas like these, and that knowledge made everything a little easier. After some consideration, Harry went to get his old photo album and took out a photograph that Luna had taken of the four of them with the new camera her father had given her for Christmas. Ron, who was in the centre of the picture, had one arm around Hermione's waist and the other one around Harry's shoulders; Luna, who had slightly miscalculated the Self-Timing Charm, kept rushing towards Harry's outstretched hand and then disappearing again while Ron grinned and Hermione waved at the camera.

 

Harry was about to put the photo next to Teddy's picture on his bedside table when something made him hesitate. It felt cowardly somehow to limit all traces of his personal life to his bedroom, where nobody would ever see them, as if he were trying to hide who he was behind the new façade of "Professor Potter". There was still the mantelpiece in the sitting room, but…

 

At long last, he went back to the study to put the photo on his desk. It seemed a bit out of place there, but given the circumstances, Harry thought, that was probably just fitting.

 

* * *

 

Harry's first meal at the staff table that evening was a thoroughly surreal experience. He had never felt more like a schoolboy than when he gingerly sat down between Professors Flitwick and Vector, wincing at the loud scraping of his chair that seemed to echo in the empty Great Hall. The fact that everyone around him took great pains to act as if an eighteen-year-old former student was a perfectly normal addition to their ranks made it worse, and Harry couldn't help wondering whether his new colleagues (that term would take a lot of getting used to as well) were just as uncomfortable with the situation as he was.

 

He ate in silence, merely nodding or making non-committal sounds when someone addressed him; thankfully nobody seemed very interested in chatting with him anyway. Dinner conversation was centred around the repairs to the castle that would be done over the summer. It looked like the teachers hadn't stayed because of Harry after all, but because they were needed to help with getting rid of the remaining effects that a year of Dark Magic had had on the school. Harry listened with growing astonishment; he'd had no idea how much of the damage still hadn't been repaired, and he tried not to ponder the question how badly the school would have needed a fully qualified Defence teacher right now.

 

He excused himself as soon as he could, claiming that he was tired and wanted to go to bed early. It wasn't even a lie – the day had seemed impossibly long, as if much more time than just a dozen hours had passed since all those good-byes in the morning. Harry was weary to the bone, yet once he went to bed, sleep wouldn't come for a long time. It was much too silent in the unfamiliar bedroom without the sound of Ron's even breathing, and he found himself desperately missing Luna's warm, reassuring presence which had always kept the shadows at bay that were now closing in on him.

 

Harry could hear a clock strike midnight somewhere in the distance; he was so tired now that his head was spinning, but he just couldn't bring himself to relax and give in to exhaustion. Little pinpricks of red light were dancing behind his closed eyelids, and again there was the feeling of being watched – a pair of dark eyes in an angel-like face that glowed bone-white in the darkness, a soft, full mouth curling into a smile that was both inviting and mocking, and the gentle touch of cool, slender fingers brushing his lips, leaving a trail of burning warmth in their wake –

 

He sat up with a start, his heart racing and his pyjamas clammy with sweat. It was pitch-dark in the room, and even though he knew without a doubt that he'd only been dreaming, he had to fight the temptation to reach for his wand and light every candle in the room. Feeling utterly ridiculous, Harry lay back again and tried to concentrate on taking deep, even breaths to slow his heartbeat down to normal.

 

The dreams hadn't bothered him for months, and over all the NEWTs-related stress he had all but forgotten about them. Compared to some of the others he'd had, this one had been perfectly innocent, but he still wondered what on earth had caused young Tom Riddle to show up in his dreams again. There was no part of his soul inside Harry, never had been; there was just no reason for his shadow to keep haunting Harry's nights. Or was it because Harry now held a position that Tom Riddle had been denied during his lifetime, because he was about to defy the old curse Voldemort had placed on everyone who dared to take up the post?

 

_Or maybe it's just because you've been thinking about him a lot lately. Get a grip, Harry, it's OVER._

 

"You're gone for good, and so is your stupid curse." It was silly and childish, but Harry still felt better for speaking the words aloud. "You have no hold over me, so you might just as well leave me alone." With that, he pulled the blanket up over his ears and closed his eyes again; this time it didn't take him long to fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

It was almost ten o'clock when Harry woke up again. Since it was long past breakfast time anyway, he saw no need to hurry; when he entered the sitting room after a long, hot shower, he was pleasantly surprised to find a breakfast tray on the coffee table. The amount of food the elves had prepared for him made him consider skipping lunch as well – he knew he couldn't avoid the staff table forever, but one awkward meal less was still an attractive prospect.

 

His good mood lasted until the moment he finally walked into his study and found Snape glowering at him from the picture frame by his desk.

 

"Potter, do you know how late it is? How do you expect to get this done when you already start lazing around on the first day?"

 

It cost Harry some effort to keep his temper under control, but there was just no point to fighting with a portrait. "It's Sunday, in case you've forgotten. I'm off to see Teddy today, so you will have to wait until tomorrow to start torturing me."

 

"Your precious godson will have to wait." Snape's voice was flat. "I have my doubts whether I can get you adequately prepared if you work straight through the holidays, Potter, but I'm absolutely sure that you will keep embarrassing yourself in front of your students on a daily basis if you don't. It's a charming prospect, but unfortunately I promised the Headmistress to make sure that the new Defence teacher was up to the task."

 

Harry grinned. "Still bitter that she didn't ask Malfoy?"

 

The portrait shrugged. "Qualification-wise, Mr Malfoy would have been the better choice, but since he decided to play with magical gadgets in the Gringotts vaults instead, I'm afraid I'm stuck with you."

 

"He didn't decide anything, Professor McGonagall refused to ask him." Harry wasn't sure why he kept trying to goad Snape – it was probably stupid given how much he would need the portrait's help, but he couldn't resist nevertheless.

 

Snape raised an eyebrow. "What makes you so sure about that?" Before Harry could reply, he indicated a stack of parchment on the desk. "I've ordered the house-elves to bring my class outlines from two years ago to give you a first impression of the task you're about to face. Sit down, Potter, we have a lot of work to do."

 

Surprised in spite of himself, Harry stepped up to the desk and picked up a sheet at random. It was covered in Snape's spidery handwriting, and from what he could make out at first glance it contained a detailed outline of the subjects to be covered during the first term of second year. If all of Snape's notes were this meticulous, he had saved Harry a huge amount of work by handing them over.

 

"You didn't have to give them to me." Harry couldn't quite bring himself to thank Snape outright, but it was probably for the better, because the portrait shot him an icy look.

 

"Severus Snape wouldn't have during his lifetime, you can be sure of that."

 

"I am, actually." With a sigh, Harry sat down behind the desk and reached for the stack of parchment. Even though he hated to admit it, Snape was right about the frightening amount of work that awaited them, and Harry knew there would be no more sleeping in for the next couple of weeks. He was still going to visit Teddy later, of course, even if it meant that he would have to work until midnight to make up for it. "Where do you want me to start?"

 

Snape made a face. "Have you actually given this any thought before you accepted the position?"

 

"Nope." Harry found that Snape's obvious annoyance did wonders for his own mood. "I reckoned it couldn't be all that difficult if someone like Gilderoy Lockhart could do it."

 

It was clear from Snape's expression that Harry's flippancy didn't fool him. "Then the only advice I can give you is to add a few loops and curls to your autograph. Shall I leave you to it?"

 

"No, of course not." Harry sighed again, but he held the portrait's gaze without flinching. "All right, I don't have a clue about any of this, and if you don't help me, I'm going to mess up royally. _Are_ you going to help me?"

 

Snape inclined his head; it looked strangely formal. "We'll start with the first year syllabus; you can work your way up from there."

 

Harry gave him a curt nod and began to sift through the stack of parchment.


	33. Chapter 33

"What do you mean, they're gone?"

 

Snape scowled from his picture frame, but Harry was well used to that after two weeks of brooding over class outlines and Defence textbooks with an ill-tempered portrait looking over his shoulder.

 

"It means they're no longer there. Madam Pince told me that the Carrows added so much dangerous material to the library that the Ministry sent her a few junior Aurors last summer to help her clean up, and they ended up removing a good part of the books in the old Restricted Section as well. They're all at the Ministry now, and it takes special permission from the Minister himself to get near them. Madam Pince isn't happy about it, but she said there was little she could do."

 

"Damn those paranoid idiots." Snape shook his head in disgust. "Ignorance is far more deadly than dangerous knowledge, but that's probably too much to grasp for an overeager Auror whelp. You'll have to talk to the Minister about this."

 

"Absolutely not." Harry leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm not asking Shacklebolt for special favours. We'll have to find another way."

 

He'd expected the portrait to argue with him, but Snape merely shrugged. "As you wish. You know that means you'll have to get the books illegally?"

 

Harry sighed, but didn't otherwise comment. He'd balked at first at Snape's demand that he start his preparation by studying the basics of Dark Magic itself, but he'd quickly realised that there really was no way around it. All these past years, he'd mostly relied on Dumbledore's advice, his gut feeling, or sheer dumb luck when it came to fighting the Dark Arts, but he wouldn't be able to base his teaching on that.

 

He'd been faced with some pretty gruesome stuff during the past two weeks, but most of it hadn't been as bad as he'd expected. Much of what he'd learned so far wasn't even so very different from the kind of magic he was used to, and there were moments when he caught himself wondering whether the distinction between the Dark Arts and legal magic wasn't mostly arbitrary. Is was a disquieting thought, because it went against everything Harry had been taught to believe since his first year at Hogwarts, and it brought back memories of the night when the Killing Curse had come to him as easily as breathing.

 

Compared to these things, having to do a bit of illegal shopping seemed like a rather minor concern.

 

"You'll have to go to Knockturn Alley." Snape was all business. "There's a small bookshop next to Borgin and Burkes that – "

 

"Wait a moment." Harry brushed his hair away from his forehead to expose his scar. It had never bothered him since Voldemort's death, but it hadn't faded either as he'd secretly hoped it would. "You want _me_ to go to Knockturn Alley to buy illegal books on Dark Magic? Please tell me you're not serious."

 

"You have a point, I'm afraid." Snape made a face, as if it cost him great effort to admit as much. "You'll need a disguise."

 

"Polyjuice?" Harry wasn't overly fond of the idea; he'd had enough experience with the foul stuff to last him a lifetime.

 

Snape shook his head. ""Too risky, since you would have to drink it every hour. There's a better way."

 

* * *

 

Harry had been to Snape's old quarters a couple of times during the last two weeks, but they still made him uncomfortable; he always felt as if he could see Lucius Malfoy sitting in a chair by the fireplace out of the corner of his eye. Snape was watching him from the picture frame on the mantelpiece as Harry carefully unwrapped the small object he'd retrieved from a desk drawer after the portrait had walked him through a series of complicated unlocking spells.

 

It was a plain silver ring, inconspicuous but for a few scratches that might have been runes. Harry weighed it in his palm, wishing that Hermione was here to tell him whether there was actually anything written on the ring. "Is this it? What is it?"

 

"A Doppelgänger Token." Snape seemed to expect a reaction, but Harry just looked at him blankly.

 

The portrait heaved a sigh. "Potter, I'm afraid you're a lost cause. How can you not know –"

 

"It's not my fault I had only one competent Defence teacher," Harry cut him off and saw with no small amount of satisfaction that the remark had hit home. "So you'd better give me an explanation."

 

Snape's scowl deepened. "It's an object that allows the wearer to turn into a perfect replica of another person – much like Polyjuice Potion, only the effect lasts for as long as the token is worn. They're rare, and highly illegal; I confiscated this one from Mr Malfoy during your sixth year."

 

Harry eyed the ring with renewed interest. "Why are they illegal?"

 

"Because," Snape replied coldly, "to make them, you need to kill the person whose appearance you want the token to create." He smirked when Harry flinched at this. "Don't drop it, Potter, you have need of it."

 

"You expect me to wander around looking like a murder victim? Are you mad?" It seemed to Harry that he should be horrified by the idea, but what he felt was mostly disgust. "What if I run into someone who knew the person who –"

 

"Stop fretting, for pity's sake." Snape sounded impatient. "This ring is at least two hundred years old; Mr Malfoy told me it had been in his family for generations. It creates the appearance of a young man who would have been dead for decades at this point anyway. And now listen carefully; in Knockturn Alley, there's more to blending in than just not looking like Harry Potter."

 

* * *

 

Harry felt thoroughly ill at ease when he turned away from the bustle of Diagon Alley and stepped into the murky semi-darkness of Knockturn Alley. The place hadn't changed very much since he'd last seen it, although there were more people about. It surprised him a bit, but he didn't mind the crowd; it was much easier to fade into the background that way. The weather was hot, and he was sweating profusely in the long, black robes Snape had insisted on, even though he wore nothing but underpants underneath because his own clothes wouldn't fit as long as he wore Draco's ring.

 

As he walked on, he had to keep himself from flinching whenever he saw his reflection in a shop window. He'd slipped the ring on his finger as soon as he had left the Hogwarts grounds to give himself time to adjust, but he still wasn't used to the wiry stranger with mousy brown hair and pale blue eyes he had become the moment he'd put on the token. This wasn't like Polyjuice, either – Polyjuice had never given him this creepy sensation of not belonging inside his own skin any more. Perhaps it was the knowledge that the man whose face he was wearing had died for it, but the feeling of wrongness that Harry had expected to experience as soon as he got into contact with Dark Magic was finally hitting him with full force.

 

He'd never missed Ron and Hermione so much, not even during the long summer holidays at the Dursleys'. The Muggle postcards they kept sending him from their trip with Mr and Mrs Granger were fun, but postcards couldn't make up for the reassuring presence of Hermione's level-headed intelligence and Ron's steadfast determination, just like Luna's colourful, excited letters were no replacement for the knowledge that he would get to fall asleep in her arms after a long, tiring day. Now he was left with nothing but the gloomy portrait of a dead man during his waking hours and whispering shadows in his dreams that he couldn't remember properly when he woke, and what would have been an exciting adventure then was now a repulsive task that he just wanted to be done with.

 

He almost walked past the narrow, nondescript entrance to the bookstore at first; only when he noticed the barred-up shop front that had once been Borgin and Burkes ahead of him did he realise that he was standing right in front of the place he was looking for. There was a clanging of metal overhead when he pushed the door open, as if the shop owner had considered the usual jingling bells not sinister enough.

 

Harry found himself in a big, cavernous room that was crammed with bookshelves. A few customers, all of them dressed in dark, nondescript robes, were browsing under the wary eyes of a bald old man at the till; behind the counter next to the old wizard, a much younger man was scribbling something in a huge catalogue without paying any attention to his surroundings.

 

As per Snape's instructions, Harry went up to the counter and rapped his knuckles on the rough wooden surface twice. It got the immediate attention of the older shopkeeper, who fixed Harry with a stare that reminded him uncomfortably of a lizard he'd once seen at the zoo. "Can I help you with something, sir?"

 

"I need a few books from vault number eight." Harry handed the old man a list of the books Snape had told him to get; he knew that the shop officially wasn't stocking any of these, but the fact that he could name the secret vault would, according to Snape, take care of that problem. Harry just hoped that Snape's information wasn't outdated – otherwise he would find himself in a lot of trouble very soon.

 

The old man barely glanced at the list before handing it over to his younger colleague. "Mr Flint, see to it."

 

The name, together with the crooked teeth the young man revealed when he grinned at him, finally made Harry realise why the second shopkeeper had seemed vaguely familiar before – this was Marcus Flint, the former Slytherin team captain. Given that Slytherins were said to value ambition above everything else, it didn't seem like much of a career for Flint to have ended up in a shady bookstore, but at least he must have made smarter choices than many of his housemates during the war because Harry hadn't ever heard his name in connection with the Death Eaters.

 

Flint scanned Harry's list and let out a low whistle, but didn't otherwise comment. "Come with me."

 

Harry followed him to the back of the shop and through a narrow door that was half-hidden behind a shelf, then through a low corridor towards another door that Flint unlocked with a wave of his wand. Harry's fingers were closing around his own wand in his pocket; something in the way Flint kept watching him out of the corner of his eye made him uneasy.

 

The huge room they entered could only be the secret vault. It was windowless and lit by a couple of flickering glass lanterns of a kind Harry had never seen before; they cast an eerie purplish light over the towering bookshelves that reached from floor to ceiling. The door fell shut behind them with a bang that echoed through the vault, and Harry couldn't help gripping his wand more tightly. Flint wasn't even looking at him, though; he was studying the list again.

 

"That's quite an order. Restocking the family library, eh?"

 

Harry had no idea what he meant by that, so he kept quiet. Flint raised his wand, casting a nonverbal spell so that Harry couldn't hear which one he'd used. A huge, leather-bound tome rose from a nearby shelf and floated over to a small reading table in the middle of the room, where it landed with a thump. The next book took longer, since it came from a shelf at the far end of the vault; at this rate, Harry would be here for a while until he had the two dozen books on Snape's list together.

 

Flint's thoughts were obviously going along the same vein. "This will take some time, I suppose." He turned to face Harry and gave him a crooked grin. "How about catching up a bit while we're waiting, Malfoy?"

 

Harry barely kept himself from doing a double-take, remembering just in time what Snape had said about confiscating the Doppelgänger Token from Draco during sixth year. So Draco had snuck out of school and come to Knockturn Alley in this disguise? Had he no longer felt so eager to flaunt his family's connection with the Death Eaters once he'd begun to understand just what he'd got himself into?

 

There was no time to ponder this unexpected revelation further because Flint suddenly stepped up to Harry, forcing him to back off if he didn't want to end up nose to nose with Flint. He didn't get far, though; another step, and he felt the boards of the nearest bookcase against his spine. Flint was so close now that Harry could feel his body heat, and the only thing that kept him from drawing his wand and flinging a hex at his former schoolmate was the danger of being caught in the backlash at such a short distance. Shoving didn't seem like such a good idea either, given that Flint had at least two stones on Harry's current lanky frame.

 

"Get off me!" It came out less imperiously and more panicked than Harry would have liked, but there was nothing to be done about that now. It didn't seem to impress Flint anyway, because his grin widened.

 

"Come on, don't be like that." His voice lowered; he was all but whispering in Harry's ear when he continued, "It's been way too long, don't you think? I'm still getting hard every time I see that desk over there and remember how you bent me over it."

 

Harry's mind went strangely blank at this, as if it had trouble processing the reality of what he just heard. There was a strange tingling sensation in the pit of his stomach that abruptly spread lower when Flint closed the remaining distance between them with a single step and pressed himself against Harry, making it impossible to miss that he hadn't meant his remark figuratively. "Thought I had forgotten after all this time that you still owe me a rematch?"

 

Harry opened his mouth, but no sound came out; his heartbeat was overly loud in his ears, and he barely heard Flint's next words, murmured with his lips against Harry's ear, "Don't give me any more of that 'I don't bottom' crap – you'll like this, I promise."

 

Before Harry could gather his wits again, Flint's mouth wandered lower, his teeth scraping Harry's neck while his hands were busy with the buttons of Harry's robes. Harry stood transfixed like a deer in the headlights, hardly noticing the sting of cold air on his skin when Flint sank to his knees in front of him. It didn't even occur to him to stop Flint's hands from pulling his underpants down; he felt as if he were caught in one of the dreams from which he would wake up panting and covered in sweat any minute now. It wasn't – no, it _couldn't_ really be Flint's hand on his cock, he was probably just touching himself again without realising it while he was dreaming and –

 

Then a warm mouth closed around him, and every conscious thought was suddenly swallowed up by an onslaught of sensation stronger than anything Harry had ever experienced in his life. Luna had done this a few times, but it had never felt like _this_ , like the world had dissolved into nothing but heat and touch and wetness and –

 

He reached out blindly, clutching the wooden boards of the shelf behind him without realising what he was doing. His heart was hammering as if it were about to break free from his chest, his sweaty robes clung uncomfortably to his back, but none of it mattered, nothing but Flint's lips and tongue and the things they were doing to Harry's cock. He was fleetingly aware of Flint's hands sliding around his hips to grab his arse, but he still wasn't prepared for the slick finger pressing into him, breaching the initial resistance and pushing deeper inside –

 

Harry cried out as he came, his fingernails digging into the hard wood of the board and his whole body tensing like a bow strung to the point of snapping. The next thing he knew were the rough edges of the boards against his naked chest and Flint's weight against his back, Flint's erection hard and slick against his arse and then slowly pressing forward –

 

He startled violently when he felt Flint's fingers closing around the ring on his right hand. Harry tried to yank his arm away, but Flint held him firmly in place. "Come on, Malfoy, I want to fuck _you_ , not some stranger –"

 

Curling his hand into a fist, Harry jerked his hips back, eliciting a sharp stab of pain and a groan from Flint, who finally let go of Harry's hand and grabbed his hips instead. The leathery smell of book covers filled Harry's nostrils as he pressed his forehead against them, dug his nails into the wood of the shelf once more and held on to it for dear life while Flint pushed into him. The pain was still there, but it was dulled by the haze of orgasmic bliss that made his legs buckle under him and his thoughts dissolve into a dizzy blur. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he was aware that this should feel strange and wrong, but it was neither; with each thrust it became easier to just let go and _feel_ , pressure and friction and damp, hot gasps against the skin of his neck all coming together and coming to a peak when Flint let out a low, drawn-out groan and then collapsed heavily against Harry's back.

 

Harry felt out of breath as if he'd just run a marathon; there was a dull roar in his ears, and he was acutely aware of the cold air hitting his sweaty skin when Flint pulled back and murmured hoarsely, "See you at the till, Malfoy."

 

Then there was nothing but the rustling of cloth and the sound of receding footsteps, and it took him a moment to understand that he was alone.

 

* * *

 

It wasn't until he left the houses of Hogsmeade behind, the soot from the public Floo still clinging to his hair and clothes and the shrunken books stored safely in his pocket, that the reality of what had just happened hit Harry. He'd just had sex with a man – one he barely knew and hadn't seen in years, no less – and had loved every second of it.

 

There was an old willow tree next to the path leading from Hogsmeade to the castle, and Harry stopped there and sat down under the tree, wincing slightly as his body reminded him just how real that experience had been.

 

Although, technically speaking, it wasn't even his body at the moment.

 

Feeling oddly dismayed by the thought, Harry took Draco's ring off his finger and watched with a mixture of fascination and revulsion as he turned back into himself. The robes he wore grew uncomfortably tight around the shoulders and chest, the sleeves slipped over his fingertips, and he would probably have to hitch up the hem if he didn't want to trip over it when he got up again. It didn't matter, though; even though his sight was now blurry because he'd left his glasses at the castle, it was a relief to look like himself again.

 

And yet he felt no different than before – his blood singing with an experience he'd never have thought possible, and the same small aches reminding him that it had been very much _him_ and not some stranger who'd let himself be sucked off and then buggered by Marcus Flint of all people.

 

_Blimey, Harry – looks like you're not so much into girls after all._

 

The thought, sounding strangely like Ron, had come out of nowhere. It left Harry frozen with surprise for a moment; then he took a deep breath and burst out laughing. He wasn't sure what had come over him – perhaps it was a normal reaction to a shock like this, perhaps he was just losing his mind, but he laughed until his stomach hurt and his eyes were streaming, and even though he was aware that there was a touch of hysteria to it, he couldn't stop until he was so out of breath that he was getting dizzy and had to lean against the trunk of the willow for support.

 

Could it really be that simple? All those dreams that had haunted his nights, the visions of a future Dark Lord's deadly beauty, the heady memory of Draco's body against his after he'd killed Greyback – had they meant nothing more sinister than that he was _gay_? Had he been stupid enough to worry about the stirring of evil deep inside him when his subconscious had merely been drawn to the fact that Tom Riddle had been pretty fit?

 

For the first time, Harry no longer felt deathly embarrassed about all those dreams he'd carefully extracted from his memory and hidden away so that Draco would never learn of their existence. Pointy and washed-out as the git was, he was still easy enough on the eyes, so it was probably just natural that Harry's imagination had latched on to him to avoid the awkwardness of fantasizing about someone he was friends with. It was suddenly amusing to imagine Draco's horrified expression if he ever learned that he'd got to star in Harry's erotic fantasies while his mummy was probably already in the process of finding him the perfect pureblood bride to keep the line…

 

Wait. This whole thing had happened in the first place because Flint had thought that he _was_ Draco.

 

Harry had been too preoccupied then to fully grasp the implications of that, but now he felt his mouth fall open as his previous line of thought did a sharp turn towards the memory of Narcissa Malfoy calling Teddy the last heir to the Black family.

 

What had Lucius Malfoy said to him all those months ago? _"You can influence someone's development, but you can't make him into something he's not."_ Harry hadn't thought anything of it then, but now he remembered Draco's remark just before Harry's meeting with Lucius –

that there was nothing he had to hide from his father, even if it included Harry's memory of humping him in the grass next to Dumbledore's grave. And that Ravenclaw boy he'd taken to Hogsmeade, the one who had blushed when Ron had alleged that he was going out with Draco…

 

At this point Harry burst out laughing again; the muscles of his stomach protested, but the sheer absurdity of the situation was getting too much to remain serious. Here he was, still reeling with the realisation that he was into men when he had been fantasizing for months about someone who swung the same way and didn't even make a secret of it. Not that he ever would have touched the git (while he was in his right mind, that was) if he _had_ known, but that hardly mattered – they were merely fantasies that meant nothing in reality, and after this afternoon's events, Harry was convinced that he would never feel shocked or embarrassed by a mere fantasy again.

 

* * *

 

It was almost dinnertime when Harry finally made it back to his quarters, but the last thing he wanted to do right now was spend any amount of time with the other teachers. He dropped the stack of books on the desk in his study without bothering to unshrink it, but kept the curtain in front of Snape's portrait closed. There would be time for that tomorrow; now he had something else on his mind.

 

He wiggled out of the uncomfortable robes on his way to the bathroom and left them on the floor, together with his underpants. It took all his willpower to resist the temptation of a quick wank in the shower, now that he saw the faint marks of Flint's touches all over his body, but tonight he wanted to take his time. He was almost painfully hard by the time he came out of the bathroom and went to get the small bottle that was still wrapped in Uncle Vernon's old sock at the bottom of Harry's old school trunk.

 

He sat cross-legged on his bed and carefully uncorked the bottle. It was a bit more difficult to pick up the silvery strands with his wand than it would have been if he'd used a Pensieve, but at long last he managed to put all the memories back where they belonged. Then he cast a triple locking charm at the door and crawled under the covers, his hand already drifting towards his aching cock. Tomorrow he would think about the consequences of this day's revelations, but right now he was determined to fully enjoy himself with his fantasies for the first time in his life.

 

* * *

 

Harry was woken at the crack of dawn by someone hammering against his door. It took him a moment to get his bearings; his mind was still hazy from vivid dreams that had probably been a direct result of yesterday's activities, and he would have loved nothing better than to bask in the afterglow for a while before he got out of bed. The knocking remained insistent, though, so he finally kicked the covers aside and wrapped himself in his dressing gown before he groggily made it to the door.

 

McGonagall was standing outside in a tartan dressing gown, her hair falling down to her back in a messy braid as if she'd just got out of bed as well. One glance at her face was enough to wipe the last remains of sleepiness from Harry's mind, together with the comfortable, sated haze it had been swimming in. The way she looked at him undid fifteen months of peace; it took Harry right back into the middle of the war, to the time when he'd known only too well what kind of news one delivered with such an expression.

 

"Harry, I'm sorry to wake you, but –" The Headmistress got no further because Harry cut her off.

 

"Who's dead?"


	34. Chapter 34

The days right after the end of the war had been cold and rainy, and all the funerals Harry had attended then had taken place under a sky full of heavy dark clouds. Now that he was back at the small cemetery where they had buried Remus and Tonks next to Ted Tonks' grave, the brilliance of the beautiful summer day made the whole scene feel strangely wrong.

 

There were far fewer people in attendance than there had been for the fallen heroes of the Final Battle. Just about three dozen mourners were gathered around the new grave, most of whom were probably here for Harry's sake – Molly and Arthur Weasley, Luna and her father, Headmistress McGonagall, Hagrid, and Professors Flitwick, Slughorn, and Sinistra. There were a few former colleagues of Tonks' from the Auror corps, but apart from them, the only two persons who hadn't come because of him were two black-clad figures who stood a bit apart from the crowd.

 

Narcissa Malfoy's bowed blonde head was covered by a black veil that hid most of her face. She looked as fragile as a porcelain doll next to her son, who had his arm around her shoulders in a protective gesture. Harry barely glanced at him, too preoccupied to feel embarrassed by Draco's presence; last week's events seemed as distant and insubstantial as a half-remembered dream in the face of this day's grim reality.

 

Teddy was whimpering softly against Harry's neck. He'd been like that since he'd been released from St Mungo's children's ward in the morning – the healers had told Harry that there was nothing physically wrong with the boy, but that there was a chance that he might have witnessed what had happened and was still in shock. It made Harry sick to his stomach to even ponder the possibility.

 

He barely listened to McGonagall's eulogy. She'd wanted him to speak instead, but Harry had refused since he had no idea what he could possibly have said. Funny how even the papers weren't taking an interest; for the last few days, they had done nothing but rehash stories about Antonin Dolohov's fifteen-month long flight and speculate about the exact way he had died, but there was surprisingly little written about the woman who had killed him at the cost of her own life. There would never be a way to know for sure what exactly had happened – everything the Aurors had been able to find out was that they had both been hit with Killing Curses they seemed to have cast simultaneously.

 

In the end, Harry thought while he readjusted his arm that had gone to sleep under Teddy's weight, it wasn't as if knowing would change anything. The only thing that mattered was that Andromeda Tonks was dead.

 

He didn't have it in him to truly grieve for her. For all the time he'd spent at her house, he'd never really got to know her, and although she'd gone out of her way to be nice to him, there had been something about her that had always kept him from warming up to her. Perhaps it had been the fact that she still reminded him of Bellatrix Lestrange whenever she made a quick move or spoke in a certain tone. Besides, it seemed to Harry that she might be happier than she'd ever been since her husband's death, now that she'd been reunited with her loved ones. The misery he felt was not for her sake, but for Teddy's.

 

"Mr Potter."

 

The soft voice behind him snapped Harry out of his brooding; he noticed belatedly that the Headmistress had finished speaking and the mourners were beginning to mingle. He turned around to face Narcissa Malfoy who had stepped up to him with her son in tow. She'd pulled the veil away from her face, revealing eyes that were dry, yet puffy and red-rimmed. Draco still had his arm around her shoulders and glowered at Harry as if his aunt's death were somehow Harry's fault. Harry was glad that Lucius at least hadn't been tactless enough to attend, even though he'd probably just stayed away out of contempt for his Muggle-loving sister-in-law.

 

"Mrs Malfoy." He couldn't bring himself to offer her his condolences, but Narcissa didn't seem to notice.

 

"There's a matter of importance I need to discuss with you, Mr Potter." Despite her grief-stricken appearance, her voice was firm. "I assume there's going to be some sort of decision about the guardianship for my sister's grandson soon, am I correct?"

 

Harry frowned; he didn't like the sound of this opening. "What's it to you?"

 

Again, Narcissa didn't react to his rudeness, although Draco's scowl deepened. "I am his closest living relative, so I'm offering to take guardianship for him." She looked not at Harry but at Teddy when she added, "I can give him a family, Mr Potter, and I'd be more than happy to raise him."

 

Harry had trouble believing that he'd heard her correctly. Teddy Lupin, son of a half-Muggle mother and a werewolf father, to be raised under the roof of Lucius Malfoy? The fact that she seriously believed he would agree to this left him speechless for a moment, but when he found his voice again, his tone was icy.

 

"If that's supposed to be a joke, I'm not laughing."

 

A small frown appeared between Narcissa's eyebrows, but she remained calm. "I assure you that I'm serious."

 

"Forget it." It took Harry some effort to keep his temper from rising. "I'll let Teddy anywhere near your husband when hell freezes over."

 

Draco seemed about to throw in a heated reply, but his mother silenced him with a warning look. "I understand your concern, Mr Potter, but I assure you –"

 

"You're wasting your time, Mrs Malfoy." Harry unconsciously tightened his hold on Teddy, causing the little boy to start squirming in protest. "As Teddy's godfather, _I_ am going to raise him, and nothing you say is going to change that, so you can save yourself the effort."

 

Her eyebrows shot up at this. "No offence, Mr Potter, but you're barely nineteen years old. Do you really think you're qualified to care for a small child? This isn't about you or me, it's about what's best for Teddy."

 

"I'm going to do what's best for him, don't worry." Harry's anger faded as quickly as it had flared up. He'd known the moment he'd heard of Mrs Tonks' death that Teddy would be his responsibility now, and he'd never been so certain about anything else in his life. "You can bring the matter before the Wizengamot, of course; I'm sure there's a fair chance that they'll rule against _my_ claim for guardianship of my godson in favour of a Death Eater's wife."

 

The cruel sarcasm hit right home, because Narcissa paled visibly. Draco, on the other hand, had angry red spots on his cheeks; if it hadn't been for his mother's presence, Harry had a feeling he'd hex him on the spot.

 

"I told you it was pointless, Mother, so can we please –"

 

His mother didn't even seem to hear him; her eyes were fixed on Teddy, and there was the faintest hint of a tremble in her voice when she said, "It seems you've made up your mind."

 

Something in her tone made Harry relent a bit. "Look, I don't care if you want anything else of what Mrs Tonks left – Teddy will stay with me, so he won't need the house, and –"

 

Narcissa's back was suddenly ramrod straight. "I have no intention to deprive my nephew of his inheritance, Mr Potter. If you don't care about the house, I'll be happy to have it looked after for Teddy so that he can have it when he comes of age."

 

Harry gave her a cool nod. "That's settled, then."

 

"Very well. Make sure to take all the things he might need, and –" her businesslike tone faltered a bit – "you should consider bringing the portrait of my sister that hangs in her bedroom. Put it where Teddy can see it; it may help a bit."

 

Harry nodded again, touched in spite of himself. "I will, thank you."

 

Her eyes were on Teddy again when she added gently, as if she were speaking to him instead of Harry, "Please let me know immediately if you should ever change your mind."

 

There was such a sense of resigned longing in the look she gave the little boy before turning away that Harry spoke out without thinking. "Mrs Malfoy?"

 

Narcissa turned back towards him again, her face now a mask of carefully schooled indifference. "Yes?"

 

"You can still see him from time to time if you'd like to." Harry wasn't sure what had caused him to make the offer – whether it was the stricken look in her eyes or the knowledge that Mrs Tonks would have wanted her grandson to remain in touch with his only living relatives.

 

Narcissa's mask slipped at this; her eyes were suddenly brimming with tears, and there was a hitch in her voice when she answered, "I'd appreciate that. Good day to you, Mr Potter." With that, she hastily turned away and let Draco drag her out of Harry's sight.

 

Belatedly, Harry became aware that most of the bystanders had witnessed the whole exchange. He saw expressions of surprise or open scepticism all around; the Headmistress was frowning slightly, and it occurred to him that it might have been a good idea to inform her of his decision to raise Teddy at Hogwarts before he made public announcements about it. Then again, there hadn't been much time to think about what he was doing; he'd been acting on pure instinct ever since the morning McGonagall had shown up at his doorstep. She seemed about to say something now, but she was interrupted by Molly Weasley rushing up to him.

 

"Harry, my dear…" Harry noticed with some alarm that she was close to bursting into tears. "You – you will let me know if you need help, yes? It's –"

 

"Don't worry, Mrs Weasley, Harry has got me to help him." The small, warm hand on his arm felt like a safe anchor in its blessed familiarity; Harry hadn't noticed Luna stepping up to him, but he'd never been happier to have her near. "I'm a nursery school teacher in training at St Mungo's, so you needn't worry about Harry or Teddy." She lowered her voice a bit when she continued, as if she wanted no one but Harry to hear her. "We also have a very good day care facility for war orphans with just one surviving parent or guardian – I'll show it to you, yes?"

 

"Thank you, Luna." There was no time to say more, but Harry knew that she understood him, because she squeezed his arm once and then wandered back to where her father was waiting for her. Mrs Weasley's expression was harder to interpret; to Harry, she looked both disappointed and relieved, which didn't really make sense.

 

"Listen, Harry…" She hesitated, but then pressed on, "I'm so sorry that Ron and Hermione aren't here, but it's not their fault, I just couldn't bring myself to tell them –"

 

"Please, Mrs Weasley, it's all right." The last thing Harry would have wanted was to ruin Ron and Hermione's holiday. "I'm really glad that you didn't tell them, there's nothing they could have done anyway."

 

Molly nodded again, then raised her hand and stroked his hair once. "You'll take good care of yourself and Teddy, yes?"

 

"Of course I will, don't worry about us." He was about to say more when McGonagall spoke up next to him.

 

"Pardon me for interrupting, Professor Potter, but I think we should talk as soon as possible."

 

* * *

 

Harry felt a bit awkward when he offered the Headmistress a seat in his sitting room, but there was no other place for them to talk since he wasn't going to leave Teddy alone in his quarters, now that the little boy had finally fallen asleep in Harry's bed.

 

McGonagall looked tired, but her tone was firm when she came right to the point. "Did you really mean what you said to Mrs Malfoy?"

 

"Yes, absolutely." Harry reminded himself to keep his temper in check; it would do him no good to get annoyed by the doubt that was only too visible in the Headmistress' expression. "There's nobody else, is there? Or do you really expect me to leave Teddy with the Malfoys?"

 

"No, of course not," McGonagall relented, but she didn't look any happier than before. "Harry –" he was profusely glad that she was dropping the 'Professor Potter' charade for now – "it's highly commendable that you're willing to shoulder such a responsibility, but have you really thought about what it means to raise a child all on your own? I know that you've been through more than most people who are twice your age, but the fact remains that you're only eighteen years old and –"

 

"I'll be nineteen in a week," Harry interrupted her, a tad impatient despite his prior determination to remain calm. "That's just one year younger than my father was when I was born."

 

The Headmistress sighed, as if she'd expected this objection. "Those were different times, but for what it's worth, I remember that I wasn't convinced at all back then whether James Potter had really grown up enough to be a husband and father."

 

Harry squared his shoulders without noticing it. "I suppose you were convinced when he died for his wife and child?"

 

McGonagall became very serious. "I don't mean to downplay your father's sacrifice, Harry, but being willing to die for your loved ones doesn't necessarily mean that you would have been able to live for them too. Besides," she added quickly when Harry opened his mouth to cut her off again, "people tend to rush things during a time of war, when nobody can be sure what's going to happen in the near future, and when Lily ended up pregnant –"

 

She stopped when she saw Harry's blank look. "You didn't know that you were already on the way when your parents married?"

 

"I had no idea." It took Harry a moment to digest this unexpected revelation, and it didn't sit well with him at all. He couldn't help remembering those scenes in Snape's Pensieve that had proved how utterly young Lily Evans had detested James Potter, and he had to push aside the disquieting thought that she might only have married his father because of a baby who, for all he knew, might have been the result of a mere accident. There was no time to ponder this now, though – not when McGonagall had just given him an opening without realising it.

 

"So you're telling me that my parents had me at a time when they might not have been planning yet to have children?" When the Headmistress nodded, Harry added in the calmest tone he was capable of, "Then why do you expect me to do less for Teddy?"

 

"Teddy is not your son, Harry," she reminded him gently, but it was clear from her expression that his argument had hit home.

 

"I don't see why that should make a difference." When the Headmistress didn't reply, he continued, "Besides, what would you have me do instead? Leave him with a foster family? Do I have to remind you how well that worked for me?"

 

He knew that he'd won when he saw McGonagall flinch at his last words, and he wondered briefly if she had known back then what kind of life he'd led with the Dursleys. She wasn't quite ready to admit defeat yet, though.

 

"Have you given any thought to the question how you're going to raise a small child while you're teaching at Hogwarts? Do you want the boy to live here with you?"

 

"If that's not possible, you'd better tell me right away so I can start looking for another job," Harry shot back. "Please don't tell me there have never been teachers at Hogwarts who had children?"

 

McGonagall cocked her head. "It's rare, but I remember that my Herbology teacher had a small daughter when I was a student. His wife was living at Hogwarts too, though, since she was Madam Pince's predecessor."

 

"I hope you're not expecting me to marry Madam Pince?" Harry asked with a grin and was quite relieved when the Headmistress smiled briefly.

 

"I wouldn't go quite that far, but apart from everything else, you _will_ need someone to look after Teddy when you're teaching. I understand that you care about Teddy first, but I have to keep your students in mind as well, and while you're working as a Hogwarts teacher, I expect you to fulfil your duties like every other member of the staff. Have you thought about that?"

 

Harry nodded, silently thanking Luna for having a lot more foresight than he'd had. "There's a day care facility for war orphans at St Mungo's, I'm sure they'd accept Teddy there." He didn't particularly like the idea of leaving Teddy alone with strangers even though he knew there was no way around it, and he made a mental note to ask Luna whether she would be able to keep an eye on his godson.

 

"That might work," McGonagall admitted after a moment's pause, "but to be honest, Harry, I'm still not convinced that you can cope with a new and difficult job and the care for a small child at the same time, and even given who you are, I doubt the responsible authorities will be all that eager to appoint you as his guardian."

 

Harry took a deep breath. "Actually, I was thinking of adopting him."

 

The Headmistress stared at him. "You –" She stopped abruptly; it looked as if she'd kept herself from saying the first thing that came to her mind just in time. Instead, she fell silent for quite a while, and she seemed so deep in thought that Harry considered it wise not to interrupt her.

 

At last, she said in a calm, matter-of-fact tone, "That won't be possible at this point."

 

Harry clenched his teeth. "Why not?"

 

"Because to the best of my knowledge, the minimum required age for adoption is twenty-one. It might be difficult for a single young man to adopt a child even if he were old enough, but you won't stand a chance if you try it right now. Not if you're willing to go about this the official way, at least."

 

The implication of her last remark was clear enough; Harry bit his lip, thinking furiously. He'd been so determined never to play the Saviour card with the Ministry, no matter what happened – but what if sticking to his determination would cost him Teddy?

 

McGonagall smiled thinly, as if she could read his thoughts. "I never had children, but I've often heard that one of the things a parent can ill afford are principles."

 

Harry felt his stomach clench. Her words had hit a spot deep within him that still felt raw and tender, but he wasn't willing to go there just now, to the memory of the ghostly images that had sullied his parents' sacrifice. He thought of Molly Weasley instead, who had ruthlessly killed another human being to save her daughter, and for a second he even remembered Narcissa Malfoy's whispering voice, betraying her master for the sake of her son. "I –"

 

The Headmistress held up a hand, cutting him off. "Please listen to me, Harry, there's another way." She leaned back in her chair, sounding for all the world as if she were giving a lecture in her classroom. "If an underage Hogwarts student is orphaned with no relatives who are willing to take over guardianship, it is possible for that student to become a ward of the school until he or she comes of age. During that time, the head of the school acts as guardian. Teddy is no student, but while he lives here with you, I think it is within my rights as headmistress to take him in as a ward of the school, and as his guardian, I could arrange for you to adopt him once you're old enough."

 

Harry gave her a sharp look. "And would you be willing to do that, too?"

 

McGonagall held his gaze without blinking. "I will if I'm convinced that it's in the boy's best interests. I'll appoint you as his caretaker in the meantime; if you prove that you're up to the task, I'll gladly help you adopt him in two year's time."

 

Her voice softened when she continued, "Please don't see this as an indication that I don't trust you, Harry, but –"

 

"– but you want to make sure that you're the one in charge in case I mess up," Harry finished for her. He knew that he couldn't really blame her, since she was only doing what she thought was best for Teddy, but he still felt a bit dismayed by her lack of faith in him. Just over a year ago, he'd been willing to lay down his life for the sake of the people he loved, and now she thought him incapable of dedicating his life to Teddy's well-being?

 

As if she'd guessed his thoughts again, the Headmistress shook her head. "Please don't think I'm patronising you, but I just don't think that someone as young as you can grasp the full scale of the responsibility that you're volunteering to take. Give yourself and Teddy those two years; they will give you a clearer idea of the task you're facing."

 

"Fine." Harry knew a challenge when he saw it; Chosen One or not, he would still have to prove that he'd grown past the boy hero stage and was able to master the responsibilities of an adult's life. It seemed a bit strange how he'd had his doubts about just that when it had only been about becoming a teacher, yet he was utterly convinced that he could be whatever he had to be for the sake of his godson.

 

It was then that another realisation dawned. "This also means that I'll have to stay at Hogwarts until I'm twenty-one, doesn't it?"

 

McGonagall frowned slightly. "Yes, but since you signed a two-year contract, I was under the impression that you were planning to do that anyway?"

 

"Yes, of course." Harry had had no intention to break his contract, but it still felt a bit uncomfortable to know that there would be no escaping the life of a teacher for the next two years, not even if he turned out to be the worst teacher since Gilderoy Lockhart.

 

"Then I believe we're agreed." McGonagall rose from her chair, putting her hand on Harry's shoulder for a second while she did so. "And now you'd better go to bed – you look dead on your feet, and I'm not sure you'll get that much sleep in the near future."

 

* * *

 

It was only when he sat down on the bed next to his sleeping godson that Harry realised how tired he was. The fading light of a beautiful summer evening was still filtering through the high windows, but he felt as if he'd been up until the wee hours of the morning. His mind was reeling with the past few days' events and the implications that were slowly beginning to dawn on him, but it could all wait until tomorrow – right now, all he wanted to do was sleep.

 

Without even bothering to undress, Harry flopped down on the mattress next to Teddy, pulled a corner of the blanket over himself, and was out just a few seconds later.


	35. Chapter 35

"How is he doing?"

 

Harry sighed as he watched Luna brush the soot off her official-looking trainee robes. He hadn't been happy with her suggestion to connect his fireplace to the Floo network – he wasn't usually this paranoid, but even with the wards McGonagall had helped him set up, he still found it unsettling to think that people could just pop into his sitting room while Teddy was nearby. There had been nothing for it, though, since he would need a manageable way to get Teddy to St Mungo's day care facility every day once the new school year began. Harry quickly pushed the thought aside; the idea of leaving his godson with a bunch of strangers still troubled him, even if Luna would be there to check on Teddy whenever she could.

 

"Still not too well, I'm afraid," he answered while Luna walked up to him to kiss him on the cheek, her familiar peppermint-patchouli smell mixed with a faint whiff of something that made Harry think of hospitals. "He's asleep now, but he keeps waking up every few hours, and whenever he's awake he starts panicking if I leave him alone even for a moment. I – I really don't know how this is supposed to work if he doesn't get better soon."

 

He hadn't meant to admit his growing desperation, but he was just so _tired_ – he spent hours every night trying to calm down a frightened little boy, and he was beginning to jump at every sound himself because it was so easy to send Teddy into another fit of panic these days. Harry had thought he knew what he was getting himself into, but he had completely underestimated just how deeply Teddy had been shaken by the violent loss of his grandmother. He tried not to ponder the question if he had been in a similar state after the death of his parents – it always led to mental images of Teddy being left with people like the Dursleys.

 

"Give it time." Luna gave him a sympathetic pat on the arm. "Teddy has been through a lot, but children are surprisingly resilient. He'll get better, but it has only been a week, you'll have to be patient."

 

Harry shook his head. Had it really just been seven days since his grand announcement that he would be taking care of Teddy from now on? Somehow, he felt like a lot more time had passed since Mrs Tonks' funeral, but maybe that was just because he'd had so little sleep since then. "Yeah, I know, it's just... rough."

 

"You know I'll help however I can, right?" Before Harry could answer, Luna continued, "Did you get all his things from Mrs Tonks' house? And the portrait Mrs Malfoy mentioned to you?"

 

Harry bit back another sigh; Narcissa Malfoy was high on the list of people he didn't want to think about. "Yes, but it didn't help at all. Teddy is too young to understand how magical portraits work; it makes him think that Mrs Tonks is back, and I believe he keeps expecting her to step out of the frame and pick him up, and then he starts crying when she doesn't."

 

Luna didn't look surprised. "Talking to my mum's picture always made me sad after she died, and I was older than Teddy and could at least understand what had happened."

 

"That's what I thought too, so I took the portrait back to the house before I owled Mrs Malfoy the key."

 

Luna gave him a soft little smile. "That was nice of you."

 

Harry shrugged; he still wasn't sure how he felt about the fact that Teddy's family affiliations were _another_ thing that would keep him tied to the Malfoys (as if it weren't bad enough that Lucius had forced him into an Unbreakable Vow to protect Draco), but there could be no doubt that Andromeda Tonks would have wanted her sister to have her portrait if it couldn't be of help to her grandson. "I found Mrs Tonks' family albums and took them with me so I can show the photos to Teddy when he's a little older. I won't let him forget his grandmother, and he'll know about his parents as well – I'm sure Remus and Tonks would want their son to remember them."

 

Luna cocked her head to the side. "But he won't, will he? He was just a few weeks old when they were killed."

 

"I know," Harry replied, stung by the blunt statement and the unspoken implication, _That's much younger than you were when your parents died, and you wouldn't remember them at all if it hadn't been for a bunch of Dementors._ "My aunt and uncle never told me a thing about them, either, and I won't let that happen to Teddy."

 

"But would you have cared so much about it if your aunt and uncle had been nice to you? If they had treated you like you were _their_ son?"

 

The question left Harry struggling for an answer. His first impulse was to tell her that yes, of course he would have cared because the people whose memory the Dursleys were keeping from him were his _parents_ , but... maybe it was just too difficult to imagine Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon ever treating him as anything but an unwelcome burden.

 

"Harry," Luna finally broke the silence, "I know you only want what's best for Teddy, but I really think that you should wait until he asks about his parents before you start telling him about them. He's still so small – what matters to him now is that he has you to be there for him when he needs you, and it will still be some time until he cares about anything else."

 

"I don't want Remus and Tonks to be forgotten!" Harry hadn't meant to snap, but the feeling that Luna might have a point irked him. "They sacrificed their lives, they deserve to be remembered!"

 

"They're dead, Harry," Luna stated simply, "they can't be hurt any more. Teddy can, because he's alive, so I think it's more important right now that he doesn't get hurt any more than he already has."

 

 _Being willing to die for your loved ones doesn't necessarily mean that you would have been able to live for them too_. Harry couldn't help remembering McGonagall's words from last week, even if he was absolutely sure that they didn't apply to Remus and Tonks – if they had lived to see their son grow up, they would have put his happiness above everything else... which was exactly what Luna was saying.

 

"Maybe you're right." It felt like an admission of defeat, but Harry saw no point in discussing theoretical issues when they had much more pressing problems to solve. "We're still scheduled for Monday?"

 

Luna shook her head, but only because she had summoned a dozen brightly coloured hairpins out of her bun and was now trying to work it loose. "Yes, of course we are. You'll both come to work with me, I'll show you around, and you'll stay with Teddy while he gets accustomed to everything. Many of the children want someone familiar around during the first few days, so nobody is going to make you leave Teddy alone there before he's ready."

 

It still surprised him how often he didn't need to tell her what he worried about because she just knew. "I – thanks, Luna."

 

"You're welcome." Luna's smile widened. "And now I think it's time to wish you a…"

 

"Happy birthday, Harry!"

 

The fireplace flashed green, and before he knew what was happening, Harry found himself caught up in a rib-crushing embrace from a deeply tanned Hermione. Ron, his Muggle clothes covered in soot, tumbled out of the fireplace after her and playfully punched Harry's arm in greeting. "Happy birthday, mate – it's good to see you again!"

 

"You too – both of you." Harry worked one arm free from Hermione's clutches to punch Ron's shoulder in return. "Uh, Hermione, you'd better let go of me before Ron gets the wrong idea."

 

It surprised him a little how easy it suddenly was to crack jokes again – as if he'd noticed only now just how bleak the last couple of weeks had been without his oldest friends by his side.

 

Hermione giggled, but finally released him, while Ron merely snorted and rolled his eyes. "We're not late, are we? We went to Diagon Alley straight from the airport, but those Muggle security procedures take forever."

 

"No, it's fine, Teddy only fell asleep a few minutes ago anyway."

 

Ron and Hermione's expressions sobered the moment Harry mentioned his godson. "Harry, we're so, so sorry about Mrs Tonks – we only just heard."

 

"Seriously, mate, why didn't you send us a message?" Where Hermione had sounded sympathetic, Ron seemed almost affronted. "We'd have come back right away."

 

"There's nothing you could have done, Ron, you'd only have ruined your holidays." Harry didn't regret his decision to keep the news from them, but the assurance that they both _would_ have dropped everything for his sake still settled around him like a warm blanket. "Besides, Teddy is still adjusting to living with me, so I had my hands full anyway."

 

It was impossible to miss the quick glance that passed between Ron and Hermione before she asked, "How is he?"

 

Harry shrugged; for some reason, he was less comfortable admitting his troubles with Teddy to Ron and Hermione than he had been with Luna a moment ago. "As can be expected, I suppose."

 

"Poor little fellow." Ron shook his head with a sigh. "Mum said to tell you that her offer to help you with him still stands."

 

"I appreciate it, but I wouldn't want to trouble her unless it's really necessary." Harry chose his words carefully; he didn't want Ron to think that he wasn't grateful for Mrs Weasley's offer, but no matter how difficult things were right now, he wasn't willing to admit defeat just yet. "Your mum has enough to deal with."

 

Ron's expression shuttered; he didn't reply, and Harry couldn't tell if he was upset by what Harry had said, or if he didn't want to admit that he agreed.

 

It was Luna who broke the sudden tension before it got too awkward. "Harry, don't you think it's time for your birthday cake? We probably shouldn't keep Hanni waiting any longer."

 

As if on cue, a house-elf appeared with a crack, although it was barely visible behind the enormous cake it was carrying. "Hanni and the kitchen elves are wishing Mr Harry Potter a very happy birthday, sir!"

 

Harry looked around and saw matching grins on his friends' faces; they seemed more than happy to put all serious topics aside for the moment. Maybe he was taking the easy way out, but he figured he had earned it after the week he'd had.

 

The next hour was filled with cake and butterbeer, colourful recounts of Ron's adventures in the Muggle world, Hermione's gushing descriptions of the places they had seen, and lots of muffled laughter so they wouldn't wake Teddy. There was a heap of parcels for Harry to unwrap; on top of his own presents, Mrs Weasley had knitted him a tiny red-and-gold jumper for Teddy, and Harry had to blink furiously for a few seconds while everyone else was busy acting as if they didn't notice.

 

"This is great, Ron – please tell your mum I love it, and I'm sure Teddy will too."

 

"Hey, someone has to uphold your Gryffindor colours, now that you've gone and turned into a _professor_." Hermione raised her eyebrows at the note of disgust that Ron had managed to put into the word, but Ron merely grinned. "You'll probably have to be totally fair and impartial from now on, won't you?"

 

For one very disturbing moment, Harry could almost see Draco Malfoy's sneering expression at the back of his mind; he had no doubts at all what Draco would have to say to Ron's question. _Knowing that you're on your own against the rest of the school does wonders for the team spirit_.

 

Harry quickly shook his head to banish both the image and the memory from his thoughts. "I suppose I will."

 

"Yikes." Ron took a sip from his butterbeer and made a face. "I still can't wrap my mind around the idea of you as a teacher."

 

As much as a part of Harry felt the same way, the statement still irked him a bit. "McGonagall obviously can, or she wouldn't have asked me." Just to see Ron's reaction, he added as an afterthought, "Snape wanted her to ask Malfoy instead, you know."

 

Ron didn't disappoint; he almost choked on his butterbeer, and even Hermione's eyes widened almost comically. "Please tell me you aren't serious."

 

"I wish I wasn't." Harry couldn't help noticing how thoughtful Luna's expression had become, but he tried not to read too much into it.

 

"Has he gone nuts?" Ron sounded like he still had trouble breathing. "And here I was feeling sorry for Bill because he's lumbered with Malfoy at Gringotts now, but the next time I see him I can safely tell him it could have been _worse_!"

 

Harry shrugged, already regretting that he'd brought it up. "It's a moot point anyway. But hey, did you know that Malfoy used to be a really adorable baby?"

 

The question did the trick, just like Harry had intended; Ron immediately forgot to be horrified and leaned forward like a hunting dog catching the first whiff of the prey's scent. "And how would _you_ know about that?"

 

With an enigmatic smile, Harry went into his study and opened the desk drawer that contained Andromeda Tonks' family pictures. He left the voluminous albums where they were – they were filled with photos of the Tonks family from Andromeda's wedding with Ted Tonks to Remus and Tonks with their newborn son, and Harry doubted that any of them felt like facing that tonight. Instead, he picked a slim volume that Andromeda had kept separately from the rest, and took it back to the sitting room.

 

"See for yourself; I found this when I went to get Teddy's things from the house. Cute, isn't he?" _You certainly seem to think so these days_ , a traitorous voice whispered at the back of Harry's brain, but he studiously ignored it and focused instead on the way Ron's face brightened with unholy glee. Hermione peered over Ron's shoulder to get a better look, and soon Harry had to remind them to keep the noise down because they were almost exploding with laughter.

 

"Oh God, this is almost too good to be true." Ron had to wipe the tears from his cheeks before he could continue. "Have you seen this one, with the hat with the bobbles? And the one where he tries to look all regal in his robes although you can see he's still wearing nappies underneath? Harry, you _must_ show these to Bill."

 

"I don't think Draco would appreciate that," Luna spoke up for the first time in a while; she, too, had been looking at the photos, but she wasn't laughing. "And I really like this one."

 

Harry recognized the photo Luna was pointing at because it had given him a moments' pause when he had first leafed through the album. It wasn't one of the baby pictures – the Draco in the photo was maybe six or seven years old, and even though his features were still soft and childlike, Harry could already recognize the boy he had met at Madam Malkin's shop a couple of years later. What he didn't recognize at all, however, was the boy's smile. He was beaming at the camera in a way that made his entire face light up, so unguarded and carefree and utterly _happy_ that it couldn't have been more different from the malicious sneer Harry used to see on this face on a daily basis.

 

Ron merely grimaced and muttered something under his breath. Hermione frowned first at Luna, then at the photo, but eventually she relented. "It's a nice picture."

 

Luna nodded at Harry. "Maybe you should send Mrs Malfoy the album, she might not have copies of these pictures."

 

"Hey, if it hadn't been for Harry, she would no longer have the original!" Ron reminded her indignantly, and Harry considered it wise to interfere before things went any further.

 

"And if it hadn't been for Mrs Malfoy, I would be dead and Voldemort would have won." Ron flinched, and Harry shot him an apologetic look. "Maybe Luna is right."

 

"And if you do send it back, Malfoy will have to live with the knowledge that you've seen his baby photos," Hermione added with a sly little grin that made Ron burst out laughing again – a little too loudly, because a moment later, they heard a soft whimper from the direction of Harry's bedroom.

 

Harry groaned, but before he could scramble up from his seat, Luna was already out of hers. "You stay here, Harry, I'll see if I can get him to calm down." Harry wanted to protest, but she had a point; it was important that Teddy got used to Luna sometimes taking care of him instead of Harry if the day care arrangement they had planned for him was supposed to work. Besides, Teddy already knew her and had always seemed to like her.

 

"I'm really sorry, mate." Ron looked utterly contrite, but Harry waved his apology aside.

 

"He keeps waking up all the time anyway. He –" Harry fell silent when Luna came back into the room with a sleepy-looking Teddy on her hip. The little boy was quiet now, although his pinched expression didn't relax until he spotted Harry on the couch. Harry held out his arms to take him from Luna, but she merely sat down across from him and settled Teddy on her lap.

 

"Why don't we just stay like that a little, Teddy? Harry is here, and the room is nice and bright, so there's no need to be afraid. Would you like to say hello to Ron and Hermione? They're Harry's friends, and they're very nice people."

 

Teddy shook his head and turned to hide his face against Luna's chest, but to Harry's surprise he didn't start crying again. "That's fine," Luna continued without missing a beat, "you can meet them another time. If you want to go back to Harry, you just tell me, okay? He isn't going to go away."

 

Teddy didn't make a sound; from the look of it, he was close to dozing off again. Luna rocked him gently on her lap and looked up to address the adults in the room. "I think he's fine for the moment. We can keep talking as long as we keep our voices down, maybe he'll fall asleep again." Something in Harry's expression caught her attention, because she added, "Harry, is that okay with you?"

 

"Yes, of course." It came out a little rough because Harry suddenly found himself struggling to breathe around the lump in his throat. Even though the last week had been hell, there had been moments when the realisation that Teddy needed him, that this little boy was _his_ to care for, had left him with a new kind of energy that had kept him going. It hadn't mattered that he was constantly stressed and worried, that he was so exhausted he didn't even dream during the few hours of sleep he was able to catch every night, that he had no idea how he was going to deal with the problems he saw looming before him and Teddy.

 

Now, though, seeing Luna with Teddy reminded him that he didn't have to deal with these problems on his own; that he had people who would stand with him, who would be there for him and Teddy if he needed them. Even Hagrid had offered to baby-sit when Harry and Teddy had met him during a walk across the school grounds a few days ago, and while Harry definitely wasn't going to entrust Hagrid with a small child, the fact that Hagrid _had_ offered had meant a lot to him. For the first time in what felt like forever, people didn't need him to be their hero, they were willing to help _him_ to make sure Teddy's childhood would be happier than Harry's had been.

 

And yet... watching Luna cradle Teddy in her arms also brought back memories of an old dream, of a scene filled with love and laughter and children playing under a Christmas tree. That dream was never going to come true the way he'd imagined it – not after last week's realisation, even if the events that had followed it hadn't left Harry any time to ponder the implications until now.

 

At the time, he had only felt relief. When you were fretting about the possible remnants of a Dark Lord's presence in your mind, discovering that you just were into men seemed like a small matter by comparison. Now, though, it was beginning to dawn on him just how much of an impact this was going to have on what his future was – or _wasn't_ – going to look like.

 

His face must have given him away, because Hermione leaned forward and put her hand on his arm with a concerned frown. "Harry, is everything all right?"

 

Harry took a deep breath. He hadn't even considered mentioning this to anyone before he'd had much more time to get comfortable with the idea himself, but he was tired of facing every struggle alone. He'd got so used to keeping his problems to himself ever since the end of the war that it cost him some effort to start talking now, but Ron, Hermione and Luna were his best and most trusted friends, and he didn't want to hide this from them.

 

"Listen, everyone – there's something you should know."

 

 

 


	36. Chapter 36

As Harry had half expected, Hermione was the first to find her voice again. "I – I mean... wow. I mean, that's... unexpected, but you know we're okay with whatever makes you happy, Harry, yes? I mean, I'm really glad that you trust us with this, and – _you_ are okay with it, aren't you?"

 

She clearly had no idea what to say, but Harry appreciated her attempt to break the stunned silence that had settled over the group after his announcement. Ron was staring at him with wide eyes and a slack-jawed expression; only Luna didn't seem all that surprised, although it was often hard to tell what was really going on in her head. Harry was deeply grateful that she kept her silence because he _really_ didn't want to know if Luna of all people had already suspected something.

 

"Yes, I'm okay with it. I think. I mean" – obviously, it was his turn to start babbling now that Hermione had finally fallen silent – "I only figured it out a short while ago, but I think I'll be fine. It's just... I always wanted a family, and that's not going to happen now."

 

"You've got Teddy," Luna pointed out in that matter-of-fact tone Harry had come to know so well. "He's family, isn't he?"

 

She was right, of course, and Harry opened his mouth to clarify how he hadn't meant to dismiss Teddy's importance to him, but he didn't get the chance because Hermione eagerly jumped on the bandwagon.

 

"And if you want more children, you can always adopt once you're old enough." Trust Hermione to know that there was a minimum age required for adoption, Harry thought fleetingly, and then did a double-take when Ron finally spoke up.

 

"Or you can ask Luna if she'll have your baby and let you raise it." He sounded a little dazed, as if he didn't fully realise what he was saying, but he still couldn't miss the glare Hermione shot him. "What? It happens!"

 

"I can't believe you!" Hermione was almost sputtering with indignation. "Ron, of all the tactless, insensitive things to say..."

 

Harry tuned out their bickering with practised ease, although he couldn't help a small stab of envy when he looked at Luna, who had merely raised an eyebrow at Ron's suggestion and now seemed hard-pressed not to laugh. He caught himself wishing that things could be as easy for him as they seemed to be for Ron and Hermione; that he could simply fall in love with Luna and have the same kind of normal relationship, filled with laughter and teasing and the occasional fight and the prospect of a perfectly ordinary, happy future.

 

At long last, Harry decided to take pity on Ron. "Hermione, let it go, I'm sure he only meant it as a joke."

 

"I found it very funny, actually," Luna added serenely, reminding Harry that no kind of relationship with her would ever be _normal_ in the strict sense of the word.

 

Ron had the presence of mind to give her a half embarrassed, half apologetic grin, which finally stopped Hermione's rant as well. "Sorry, mate, I just – I suppose this will take a bit of getting used to."

 

It was Harry's turn to grin, although it turned out a little lopsided. "Tell me about it."

 

Judging by the way he kept fidgeting, there was something else on Ron's mind. "And you're really sure? I mean – it's not just a phase or something that might pass? You sound pretty certain, but –"

 

"I am," Harry interrupted him; this was an argument he had anticipated. There was no way he was going to explain the reasons behind his certainty to Ron, though, so he would make sure he didn't have to. "Can you accept that, or do you need details in order to believe me?"

 

"No, thanks!" Ron realised a little too late how horrified his hasty answer had sounded. "Look, I don't mean it like that. I'll be perfectly okay with... with you being gay once I've wrapped my mind around it. I'm just – surprised, is all."

 

It began to dawn on Harry what might be at the root of Ron's obvious discomfort, and now it was his turn to struggle against the onset of acute embarrassment. This was an issue he would have preferred to ignore forever, but he knew it was something that needed to be clarified right away before it did any kind of damage to their friendship.

 

Leaning forward, he waited until Ron would finally meet his eyes and then stated in the most solemn tone he could muster, "Ron, I've never fancied you, and I never will."

 

Ron paled, then blushed crimson, but it was impossible to miss how his posture relaxed. "Oh. Okay. I mean, I wasn't – I mean, you're sure, yes?"

 

Harry, inwardly cringing in spite of his profound relief, went for the safest way to get out of this awkward conversation as quickly as possible. "Mate, have you looked into a mirror lately?"

 

Luna guffawed, and Hermione let out a very unladylike snort that finally broke the tension. Ron gave Harry a sheepish grin and then turned to his snickering girlfriend. "And here you thought _you_ had a big announcement to make tonight."

 

"You've got something to announce? What is it?" Harry was more than happy to change the subject, now that everyone he wanted to know had heard the news. "Don't say you've finally decided on a job!"

 

"Not quite." Hermione took a deep breath. "I've been offered a scholarship at Salem Witches' Institute; I'll be studying Advanced Charms there for a year."

 

"Wow." Harry felt a small sting at the thought of Hermione being out of the country for a whole year, but he knew it wasn't his place to say anything – if Ron could deal with the separation, he hardly had any right to make a fuss about it. "Congrats, Hermione – that sounds like a huge opportunity."

 

She gave him a grateful smile. "It certainly is. I figured it's now or never, since Ron will be busy with Auror training next year anyway."

 

"Oi, no jinxing!" Ron chided her. "I've still got a ton of tests to pass first, no matter what Kingsley told Dad!"

 

Harry thought that if the Minister for Magic had indeed told Mr Weasley that he expected Ron to pass the tests, there was very little reason for Ron to worry, but of course he didn't say that. He remembered only to well how _he_ had felt when everyone had acted as if his own career in the Auror corps was already set in stone. "The tests start pretty soon, don't they?"

 

"Day after tomorrow." Harry and Hermione exchanged a small smile at the way Ron's face lit up with excitement. "Keep your fingers crossed for me."

 

"That has been known to attract Poddcorck Stingers," Luna admonished him, and then quickly got up to take Teddy, who had finally dozed off, back to Harry's bedroom before the sound of everyone's laughter woke the little boy again.

 

Harry watched her walk out with Teddy in her arms and caught himself wishing for a way to freeze the picture so he could hold on to this moment of blessed respite once reality caught up with him again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Well, if it isn't the famous Professor Potter!"

 

Harry's automatic wince changed into a grin when he turned around and found himself facing Bill Weasley, still looking more like a rock star than the respected Gringotts official he was. The cruel scars on his face stood out in stark contrast to his tanned skin, although Bill was able to carry them off in a way that looked almost dashing on him.

 

"Are we being formal, Mr Weasley?"

 

It was Bill's turn to wince. "Okay, fine, point taken. What brings you to Diagon Alley? Ron said you had your hands full with the little one."

 

Harry sighed. Today was Teddy's first day at the day care centre without him, and he wasn't convinced at all that things would go as smoothly as Luna had promised they would. Teddy seemed to like the place well enough, but he'd always stayed close to Harry until now, and Harry had no idea how he would fare on his own. Still, there had been no way for him to postpone this trip to Diagon Alley any further, now that the beginning of the new school year was less than three weeks away.

 

"I do, but I finally had to get some shopping done, I can't very well start teaching in my old student robes."

 

"Oh dear." Bill eyed the bag Harry was carrying with a mixture of pity and disgust. "I suppose Madam Malkin had a field day with you."

 

Harry made a face. He had wanted to buy a few simple black robes, but Madam Malkin would have none of it. She had reminded him that he couldn't afford to look like a student considering that he was barely out of school himself, and although Harry had been loath to admit it, he knew that she had a point. He had ended up with new robes in dark blue (which made him look very distinguished, according to her), emerald green (which allegedly brought out the colour of his eyes, although he failed to see how _that_ would matter to a teacher) and a deep ruby red he actually liked a lot, although he had felt like a peacock when he'd tried them on. "Didn't your mother teach you not to kick a man when he's down?"

 

He'd meant it as a joke, but Bill became serious. "Speaking of mothers – but this is no topic for a street corner. Do you have time for a drink? I've got twenty minutes before I have to be back at the bank."

 

Harry had planned to return to Hogwarts as quickly as possible, but the prospect of a conversation that wasn't about Defence timetables or Teddy's latest nightmare was too tempting to refuse. "I suppose I do."

 

Once they were settled at their table at the Leaky Cauldron, glasses of chilled gillywater in front of them (Bill insisted that a curse-breaker couldn't afford even the tiniest amount of alcohol while on duty, and Harry was actually grateful for the ice-cold drink after the sweltering summer heat of the alley outside), Bill didn't beat around the bush. "I hear Mum offered to help you with your godson?"

 

"She did, but I already told Ron I won't take her up on it." Harry didn't mention that the refusal no longer came as easily to him as it had back then; the closer he got to the beginning of the new school year, the more overwhelmed he felt. Those were his problems, though, not Mrs Weasley's, who had enough of her own.

 

"I know, but I wanted to make sure." Bill paused, as if searching for the right words, which seemed strangely out of character for him. "Look, Harry, I know that you have a lot on your plate right now, and I expect it will get worse once you actually start teaching, but Mum... she's not doing well at all at the moment."

 

Harry frowned, but Bill didn't give him time to ask a question. "She tries to keep a stiff upper lip, but now that Ginny is in Romania, and Ron about to begin his Auror training, she's really starting to feel how empty the house has become."

 

Harry barely kept himself from flinching. He knew on an intellectual level that what had happened between him and Ginny was nobody's fault, but deep down he still felt responsible for Ginny's abrupt departure, and the pain it must have caused her mother.

 

"It seems to me that she's getting more and more desperate for someone to take care of, someone who will take her mind off things," Bill continued. "Fleur won't even go to the Burrow any more because Mum keeps pestering her about having children, no matter how often we tell her that we've decided to wait another few years before we even think of that. I mean, I'm not even thirty yet, what's the rush?"

 

He paused at Harry's humourless chuckle and gave him a sheepish grin. "I suppose the issue looks a little differently from where you're sitting."

 

"It's not like I was planning to become a parent before I'm out of my teens," Harry reminded him, "but I get it, Bill. You're afraid your mum might latch on to Teddy instead if I ask her to help me with him?"

 

Bill nodded gravely. "I think she's trying to surround herself with new people she can love in order to make up for her losses, but that won't work – not until she has found a way to live with her grief, because she's still far from that. I've tried talking to her, and so have the others, but there's no getting through to her. Teddy would be a distraction, but if you ask me, she's in no state to care for a small child right now."

 

Harry idly drew random patterns into the condensation on his glass; he couldn't bring himself to look at Bill right now. He hated this feeling of helplessness, the knowledge that people he cared about were hurting, and that there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

 

Still, his first priority would have to be Teddy. "You needn't worry about that as far as I'm concerned."

 

"I'm glad to hear it." Bill took a sip and changed the topic, although it felt a bit forced; Harry could tell there was a lot more on his mind than he let on. "So, things are working out with your godson?"

 

"Ask me again once I get home and find out how he has been doing on his own at the day care centre," Harry answered darkly. "I really hope he'll be fine there, because if he isn't I have no idea what I'm going to do with him once the school year starts."

 

"How's that going, by the way?" Bill asked; his tone indicated that there was more to the question than just idle curiosity. "I suppose it's not easy to prepare Defence lessons, considering how little they teach you at Hogwarts about the things you're supposed to defend yourself against." At Harry's baffled look, he added with a smirk, "You already found that out, didn't you? I remember how I had to start from scratch when I began my training as a curse-breaker, and I imagine it's pretty much the same for you now."

 

"You mean, that I don't know nearly enough about Dark Magic to teach Defence properly? Not a day goes by without Snape's portrait reminding me, in case I should ever forget."

 

"Still, it's probably a good thing you have him, no matter how much of an arsehole he was while he was alive."

 

Harry couldn't help laughing at that. "True on both accounts, but – I'm still not convinced I'll be up to the task." He wouldn't have admitted this to just anyone, but it was a relief to finally confess his worries to someone who truly understood.

 

Bill nodded thoughtfully. "You know, don't take this the wrong way, but I was a little surprised to hear that McGonagall offered you the job."

 

Harry shot him a look. "I take it Ron told you whom she wanted to ask first?"

 

"That he did." The corner of Bill's mouth quirked up for a second. "Instead, I'm the one who's now saddled with the little git." He grinned when he saw Harry's eyes widen. "Yes, I've been charged with overseeing his apprenticeship. Goblins have a rather nasty sense of humour, and I suppose they liked the irony." He idly ran a finger over the largest of his scars. "Or maybe they thought I would enjoy seeing him turn green around the gills every time he looks at my face."

 

Harry had no idea what to say to that. " _You're_ training Malfoy?"

 

Bill shrugged. "I've had worse charges. I mean, I'll never be his biggest fan for obvious reasons, but I've got to give him some credit for finally making sure that Greyback got what he deserved. I wouldn't have wanted to face that creature again, so I suppose there has to be a little more to Malfoy than one would think."

 

Harry kept his expression carefully blank as Bill continued, "Besides, Kingsley is probably right when he keeps saying that we need to put the past behind us. The boy certainly knows his stuff; in some areas, I think he even knows more than I do, although he tries very hard not to let me notice it. He isn't one for barging into dangerous situations, so I probably wouldn't take him into the field with me, but he's pretty good with everything that involves fiddling with the intricacies of Dark Magic. He could make for a decent curse-breaker one day, although I doubt he'll last that long at Gringotts."

 

Harry had been reminded of the Vanishing Cabinet that Draco had repaired with such disastrous consequences back in sixth year, but Bill's last words interrupted his thoughts. "Why's that?"

 

"Too much bad blood all around, I suppose." Bill sounded nonchalant, but there was an edge to his tone. "The goblins don't care, but it's not all goblins at Gringotts. Malfoy tries to keep his head down, but there have already been a few incidents, and I wouldn't dare to predict what's going to happen once it's no longer up to me to baby-sit him. I've heard he got the job because the Minister threw his weight around, but I'm not sure Kingsley really thought this through."

 

Harry bit his lip. He had long ago resigned himself to the fact that sooner or later, Draco would get himself into a situation that forced Harry to keep the Unbreakable Vow he had sworn to Lucius Malfoy, but he had hoped that the git would be able to fend for himself for a few years at least. From the sound of it, that had been too much to hope, although of course Bill had no way of knowing any of this.

 

Which begged another question, now that Harry thought about it. "Bill, no offence, but why are you telling me this?"

 

"That obvious, am I?" Bill flashed him a wide grin. "Harry, I know perfectly well that you and Malfoy have been at each other's throats since you were both ickle first years. I don't particularly like the little tosser, but I don't need to find him smeared across the wall of our workroom one morning either, and besides, I honestly think he could be more useful to you than he'll ever be to me."

 

Harry was deeply grateful that Bill had no way of guessing at the images his words had triggered in Harry's mind; he could only hope he wasn't blushing. "How so?"

 

Bill leaned forward with a conspiratorial smile. "Walk back to the bank with me, I'll tell you on the way."


	37. Chapter 37

In spite of his promise, Bill didn't even mention Draco again while he and Harry made their way back to Gringotts. Instead, he talked about everything from the cursed armband he was currently working on to the upcoming Quidditch season, never shutting up long enough for Harry to even get a word in, let alone to remind him that there supposedly was something he wanted to tell him. It wasn't a long walk to the bank, and before Harry knew it, they were standing outside a small side entrance that was just as nondescript as the main entrance was imposing.

 

Bill tapped the door with his wand and, when it creaked open, gestured for Harry to enter. "After you, Harry. This won't take long," he added when he saw Harry hesitate. With a shrug, Harry stepped over the threshold; he had no idea what Bill was up to, but by now he was curious enough to find out.

 

Bill followed him and then took the lead, guiding Harry through a maze of identical-looking corridors and down several flights of stairs until they reached a huge door that looked like it was made entirely from steel. Harry guessed that it was the entrance to Bill's workroom; in a room where curse-breakers worked with dangerous magical artefacts, a steel door was probably a wise precaution.

 

The door had no handle or any other visible way of opening it, indicating that the room behind was protected by magical means as well. The flash of purplish light that erupted from Bill's wand when he cast _Alohomora_ confirmed Harry's assumption.

 

"It's spelled to open only for you?"

 

"Actually, it's keyed to my wand, and to those of a few other people who have access." Bill grinned at Harry when the door swung open. "I know, I know – someone else could just take my wand and use it instead of me, but" – the door fell shut behind them with an echoing clang – "any curse-breaker worth his salt has a few tricks up his sleeve to prevent that. Hey, Malfoy, I'm back!"

 

Harry did a double-take when a blond head appeared behind a pile of strangely twisted metal that cluttered one of the workbenches at the far end of the big, cavernous room they had entered. He probably should have expected to run into Draco here, but he would have thought that Bill would at least give him a bit of warning.

 

Draco's eyes widened for a moment when he saw Harry, but he quickly schooled his expression into one of haughty indifference. "Not just you, it seems."

 

Harry did his best to keep his face equally impassive. He wasn't sure how he felt about this sudden encounter; he hadn't seen Draco since the day of Mrs Tonks' funeral, and given how Harry's conversation with Narcissa Malfoy had gone that day, he doubted Draco was particularly keen on ever talking to him again. Harry was more than fine with that, considering the flashes of blond which had more than once wormed themselves into his fantasies during the rare private moments he still had these days, and the idea of facing the actual person behind these images was more than a little embarrassing. Not that it mattered, of course – he didn't dislike Draco any less just because he didn't always have his libido under control, and it wasn't as if Draco would ever know about any of it.

 

_Except for that moment by Dumbledore's grave, with the taste of blood on his lips and Draco's body pressed against him…_

 

Harry jerked away from the memory as if burned; _that_ was the last thing he should be thinking about right now.

 

Thankfully, Bill was already talking again. "Yes, I thought you might like to meet an old schoolmate."

 

Harry fully expected Draco to come back with a caustic reply, but Draco merely rolled his eyes. He got up, but remained standing behind his workbench with his arms crossed and his shoulders tense until Bill sighed and waved him over with an impatient gesture. Draco obeyed after a moment's hesitation although he didn't seem happy about it at all. "Potter."

 

Harry merely nodded back, uncertain what to make of Draco's tone. He sounded strangely subdued, which matched his appearance, now that Harry got a better look at him. His coarse work robes, reinforced with thick layers of dragon hide, seemed almost too heavy for him and were covered with scratches and scorch marks. He was even paler than Harry remembered him, and the shadows under his eyes had deepened into the bluish-purple colour of old bruises. There was an air of wariness about him, reminding Harry of the things Bill had told him earlier.

 

"Enjoying yourself at your new job, Malfoy?"

 

That, finally, earned him the familiar sneer, which was downright reassuring in its normality. "What's it to you?"

 

Harry shrugged. "I'm just being polite."

 

Draco's eyes narrowed, but he didn't take the bait. "I like it well enough. How's the baby-sitting going?"

 

There was no hint of malice in Draco's tone, but Harry stiffened nevertheless. "Teddy and I are fine."

 

"Really." It was a statement, not a question. "That's not what the papers are saying – you can't open the Prophet these days without coming across another sob-story about your poor traumatised godson."

 

Harry did his best to stay calm, but there was no way he was going to let Draco get away with that kind of insinuation. "He's getting better, which is more than could be said of him if I had allowed him to grow up under your father's roof."

 

To his utter surprise, Draco looked away. Harry would have expected him to fly in his face for the insult to his family, even more so considering how his talk with Narcissa Malfoy had gone when she had offered to raise Teddy. Instead, Draco merely shrugged. "Probably."

 

Something clicked in Harry's head. "Your father wasn't crazy about the idea of taking Teddy, was he?"

 

"Mother didn't ask him." When Draco finally met Harry's eyes again, the calm mask was back. "I suppose she was sure she would get him to accept her decision once she brought the boy home, and she probably would have, but I'm not all that upset that it didn't come to that." A hint of annoyance slipped into his tone when he added, "Which doesn't change the fact that your behaviour towards her was appalling."

 

It was Harry's turn to roll his eyes. "Fine, fine, tell her I'm sorry." He wasn't, not really, but if Draco was able to discuss the matter somewhat civilly, he could do it too. He was a bit surprised that Draco would be so open about it, but it made sense if he was honestly relieved that Harry had refused to hand Teddy over to Narcissa. From the sound of it, the matter might have caused all kinds of trouble between his parents, and Harry couldn't really blame him for wanting to avoid that, now that they finally had something like a normal family life again.

 

Because Draco had his family back, while Teddy...

 

Harry suppressed the thought with practised ease before it could go any further. What was done was done, and he had to deal with the fallout to the best of his ability, which would only get harder if he let himself dwell on such matters too much.

 

"She'll be overjoyed to hear it," Draco replied sarcastically. "Is there actually a reason for your unexpected visit, Potter? Because if there isn't, I have work to do, and you should probably get back to your shopping spree."

 

Of course the git had noticed Harry's shopping bags – Madam Malkin's bright red label was hard to miss, after all. Harry shot him a dark look. "I'm quite finished with that, thank you very much."

 

"Too bad – I'm sure Madam Malkin would have loved to fawn about you some more."

 

Harry couldn't help remembering that day in Madam Malkin's shop when he had run into Draco for the very first time, although he felt so far removed from the person he had been then that it might just as well have happened to someone he barely knew.

 

Judging by his sour expression, Draco remembered it too. "I bet she's already selling the photos she secretly took of you while you were changing."

 

Harry made a face. "You have a sick and twisted mind, Malfoy."

 

"Speaking of twisted," Bill spoke up from the other side of the room, startling Harry badly; he had all but forgotten that Bill was still there. "This is pretty impressive, Malfoy. How did you disentangle them so neatly?"

 

Draco quickly turned towards Bill, who was examining the pile of metal on Draco's workbench. To Harry's surprise, he didn't bask in the praise like he used to do at Hogwarts; on the contrary, his expression tightened into something that almost looked like alarm. "It wasn't that difficult, I – I used the spell you recommended."

 

"Hmmm." Bill tapped one of the pieces with his wand and frowned. "I've never seen it work quite like this before. You're sure you didn't use anything else?"

 

"Yes, of course," Draco answered too quickly; it was blatantly obvious that he was lying, although Harry had no idea why he would refuse to take credit if he had come up with a way to improve Bill's methods. Unless... what had Snape said to him, almost a year ago when he had roped Draco into helping out with his DADA preparations?

_I asked you_ because _you know magic you're not supposed to._

 

For a second, Harry had to suppress the urge to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. The entire summer, he had been struggling – and, if he was honest with himself, failing – to learn enough about Dark Magic to properly teach his future students how to defend themselves against it, and here was Draco, desperately trying not to let anyone notice just how much he knew about the very subject that was giving Harry so much trouble.

 

"Well, if you're sure," Bill said lightly as he turned away from the workbench, "then you won't mind showing the other boys how it's done, will you?"

 

Harry was almost impressed by the way Draco held himself in check even though he had paled at Bill's words. "I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you."

 

Bill sighed. "I thought so. Look, Malfoy, this isn't going to work. That little incident last week –"

 

"You know perfectly well I didn't start it," Draco interrupted him; he sounded as if it cost him some effort to keep his composure.

 

"Yes, I know." Bill sighed again, louder this time. "Just like you didn't start any of the others, but let's face it, you're a trouble magnet, and as long as you're here, I'll have my hands full keeping you in one piece."

 

Draco's lips thinned. "Then you'll have to fire me, because I definitely won't be quitting."

 

Bill shot him a calculating look. "You've given me no reason to fire you. I just wanted to tell you that I'm about to return to field work because I'll go crazy if I'm stuck in this workroom for much longer. The management is sending me to Peru next month, and I'll be gone for at least five weeks. It's up to my superiors who will oversee your apprenticeship while I'm away, but my guess would be either Waldemar Bones or Septimus Tofty."

 

"Thank you for letting me know." Draco's tone was icily calm, but it was impossible to miss how the last bit of colour had left his face at Bill's words; the look in his eyes reminded Harry of a trapped animal. "Was there something else, or can I get back to work now?"

 

Bill rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers. He looked tired – although not nearly as tired as Harry suddenly felt.

 

This wasn't how things were supposed to be. The war was _over_ , the fighting was behind them, and things were finally supposed to get better. Considering how much of a bully Draco had been during his time at Hogwarts, Harry knew he should probably enjoy watching him get a taste of his own medicine, but how was the world ever going to get back to normal if it kept circling in an endless spiral of anger and hatred and violence?

 

Had they really fought for nothing more than the right to bully the losing side in return?

 

Bill sat down on the edge of the nearest workbench and fixated Draco with a baleful look. "Yes, there's something else, so kindly spare me the dramatics. I understand why you refuse to be pestered into leaving, and as a Gryffindor, I can even respect it" – Harry couldn't suppress a grin when he saw Draco make a face as if he'd bitten into a lemon – "but let's not fool ourselves, neither Bones nor Tofty will lift a finger to help you if things should get out of hand."

 

Draco shrugged with feigned nonchalance. "There's not much I can do about that."

 

"Yes, I think there is." Bill threw Harry an apologetic glance. "I hear that Headmistress McGonagall would have offered you the Defence position at Hogwarts if you hadn't already accepted this job."

 

Draco's eyes widened almost comically. He looked absolutely thunderstruck, and Harry quickly opened his mouth to point out that it had been Snape's idea and that nobody knew for certain if McGonagall would actually have gone through with it. Before he could say a word, though, Bill silenced him with a pointed look.

 

"Now Harry is stuck with the job on top of having to take care of a toddler all by himself, and you know as well as I do how little one actually learns about Dark Magic at Hogwarts if one doesn't have... let's say _extracurricular_ access to that kind of information."

 

"I think everyone in our field of work is very aware of that," Draco answered, smoothly deflecting the insinuation; he had obviously got over the initial shock pretty quickly. "So what you're saying is that Potter not only has to fill a position for which he isn't qualified, but he also doesn't have the time to make up for his lack of qualification because he's too busy changing nappies."

 

"Hey!" Harry couldn't deny that everything Draco had said was true, but that didn't mean he would allow him to _say_ it like that. He could hardly believe he had almost felt sorry for the git a moment ago, when right now he only wanted to wipe that smirk off his face.

 

Bill shot him another look, this time downright imploring, as if he were trying to say _Could you please at least try to be an adult about this?_ Fuming, Harry bit back the rest of his angry reply, although it cost him some effort.

 

"Very mature, Malfoy," Bill said mildly, and Harry took a bit of vindictive consolation from the way Draco's grin faded. "Keep up that attitude, and I'll happily let you get back to playing with your little friends while I'm gone."

 

Draco bit his lip and lowered his head the fraction of an inch. "So what are you suggesting?"

 

"I think both you and Harry are in over your respective heads at the moment." Bill's expression dared either of them to contradict him; he didn't seem surprised when they both remained silent. "It appears to me that the best solution for the two of you would be to share the Defence post for a year. No, let me finish," he cut them off before either of them could interrupt him. "Think about it for a moment. Harry would have more time for Teddy, and you, Malfoy, could help him with everything he still has to learn about Dark Magic. I'm sure the Gringotts management would grant you a leave of absence for such a purpose, so if you want your old job back afterwards, that shouldn't be a problem – and hopefully, things will have calmed down a little around here by then. I know you two can't stand each other, but frankly, you're both pretty much out of other options at this point. So, what do you say?"

 

"Please tell me you're joking." Draco seemed torn between shocked disbelief and laughter, which was pretty much how Harry felt as well.

 

Bill remained unfazed; he clearly hadn't expected anything else. "Harry?"

 

Harry shook his head. "Sorry, Bill, but I have to agree with him for once."

 

"Well," Bill shot back with a grin, "that's a start, wouldn't you say?"

 


	38. Chapter 38

_I can't believe I'm doing this._

 

The thought kept running through Harry's mind in a constant loop while McGonagall scrutinised them both, her expression deadpan. Next to him, Draco's face was just as expressionless, and Harry caught himself wondering when the git had learned that kind of self control – the Draco Malfoy he remembered from his school days had never shown the slightest inclination towards hiding his emotions in any given situation, yet here he was, sitting in front of the Headmistress' desk like a marble statue while Harry could barely keep himself from fidgeting under McGonagall's unreadable gaze.

 

Then again, Harry himself probably didn't have all that much in common with the person he had been during his school days, either.

 

"I have to say," McGonagall finally broke the silence that had descended once Harry had finished outlining Bill Weasley's idea, "this is a little unexpected."

 

 _Tell me about it_. Harry didn't say it out loud, of course; it would hardly help their case if he admitted how long it had taken Bill to convince the two of them that this crazy experiment might actually be worth a try. Harry was fairly certain that McGonagall would refuse anyway – but since he still couldn't think of a better way to make sure that he wouldn't be forced to neglect either Teddy or his teaching duties during the upcoming school year, he figured that he owed it to everyone who counted on him to at least suggest it.

 

McGonagall clearly wasn't expecting an answer from either of them, because she kept talking. "As glad as I am to see that the two of you seem to have found a way to overcome your... differences" – Harry thought he heard a barely audible snort from where Draco was sitting, and he could only hope that his own face didn't give away the fact that for once he agreed with Draco's assessment wholeheartedly – "I'm not entirely convinced that this would be a workable solution. However, you did manage to work together quite successfully under Professor Snape's supervision last year..."

 

She fell silent again, her lips pursed as if she were deliberating something, and Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. She wouldn't actually _agree_ to this, would she?

 

He was going to strangle Bill the next time he saw him.

 

"Have you considered," she asked after a while, "that there is a monetary aspect to this decision as well? The board of governors will hardly agree to pay both of you a full teacher's salary – since you wish to share what would usually be a single position, I would expect them to suggest that you share the salary as well."

 

Harry hadn't even thought of that, but it didn't bother him – he'd never given any thought to the question before, since he could probably live quite comfortably off the money his parents had left him without working at all for a couple of years. Not that he was planning to do it, of course, but money was definitely the least of his worries at the moment.

 

"Although I assume," McGonagall continued, and now she was addressing Draco directly for the first time, "that it wouldn't make much of a difference to you at least, Mr Malfoy, since Mr Weasley informed me that half a Hogwarts teacher's salary would amount to only a little less than a first-year apprentice's wages at Gringotts."

 

Harry felt his eyebrows shoot up. So Bill had talked to McGonagall before them, which meant that their suggestion hadn't been all that _unexpected_ to the Headmistress after all. Harry couldn't suppress the disquieting feeling that he had been played, although he couldn't have said for sure by whom and to what end.

 

Draco merely shrugged; if he was embarrassed by the fact that McGonagall knew about his lousy pay, he didn't show it. "It's not like I have to work for the money."

 

McGonagall smiled thinly. "I suppose that's true, now that the Ministry unfroze your family's assets."

 

"Most of them." For the first time, Draco's cool mask slipped a bit when he noticed Harry's expression. "Is something the matter, Potter?"

 

"Your father got his _money_ back?" Given the circumstances, it probably wasn't wise to sound so scandalised, but the question was out before Harry had time to think better of it.

 

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Why yes, Potter," he answered in that too-familiar drawl that never failed to make Harry's fists itch, "there was an _amnesty_. Hadn't you heard?"

 

Harry bit back his angry reply before he could say something he'd regret. He knew that there had been no real alternative to Shacklebolt's decision to pardon most of Voldemort's followers, but it had never occurred to him before that there was a financial side to the issue as well, that all those wealthy Death Eater clans would get back the funds to buy their way into the inner circles of power again. For the first time, Harry found himself regretting his decision to remove himself from the playing field of wizarding politics for good.

 

Then he thought of Teddy, and of what Lucius Malfoy had seen during his glimpse into Harry's mind, and the flash of regret evaporated as quickly as it had flared up. _Kingsley's problem, not mine_.

 

McGonagall pointedly cleared her throat, thus sparing Harry the trouble of coming up with a reply. "With that out of the way, gentlemen, have you given any thought to the practical side of this... arrangement? How are you planning to divide your teaching duties between the two of you?"

 

Harry realised belatedly that it was a fair question, and that he and Draco should probably have discussed it before going to McGonagall with a vague idea instead of an actual plan. To his surprise, though, Draco answered without hesitation.

 

"Given that Potter's expertise" – only someone who knew Draco very well could hear the hint of sarcasm in his tone – "is in the field of practical Defence, he would stick to teaching that while it would be my job to give the students a firm background in the _theory_ of the Dark Arts." The way Draco stressed the word _theory_ wasn't lost on Harry, and he doubted McGonagall had missed it either. "That way," Draco continued without missing a beat, "the students would get a much better understanding of what they're going to face when confronted with the Dark Arts, which seems rather more effective than merely teaching them counter-jinxes without actually explaining to them _what_ they're supposed to counter."

 

Harry blinked; barely veiled insult towards the current Hogwarts curriculum aside (and from the way McGonagall's expression froze, it had hit a nerve), Draco sounded as if he had really thought this through. How had he managed that in the few hours between Bill's original suggestion and the moment they had walked into the Headmistress' office, when Harry was still busy wrapping his mind around the idea that he had – at least theoretically – agreed to working with the git again? Was he that desperate to get away from Gringotts without losing face, or was there some other ulterior motive Harry couldn't see yet?

 

"You seem to have given this a lot of thought, Mr Malfoy." McGonagall's words mirrored Harry's own reaction, although her tone was too carefully neutral to give away what she made of Draco's proposition.

 

Draco shrugged again, although his nonchalance didn't look quite so convincing any more to Harry. For some reason Harry couldn't guess at, this seemed truly important to him. "It's what I've been thinking since my first year, and I'm pretty certain that's true for most other Slytherin students as well." For a second, the thin smile Draco gave McGonagall reminded Harry so much of Lucius Malfoy that it made his skin crawl. "Didn't you keep talking about the mending of fences and the importance of new beginnings last year, Headmistress? It seems to me that this might be a good place to start."

 

Harry felt his jaw drop. Even at his most furious, he would have thought twice about throwing such a challenge in McGonagall's face, and he would never have expected Draco Malfoy of all people to have that kind of nerve.

 

McGonagall, however, didn't take the bait. "An interesting suggestion. I'm aware that you would be capable of seeing it through, as you proved during your NEWT exams last year. I remember that you rather impressed Minister Shacklebolt during your oral Defence exam, and the Minister mentioned to me afterwards that it might be wise to give students carefully supervised access to that kind of knowledge in the course of their Hogwarts education instead of leaving it up to them to find alternative ways of acquiring it."

 

Harry took some petty satisfaction from the way Draco couldn't quite suppress a flinch, although he pulled himself together quickly – certainly faster than he had when Bill had kept pestering him about the spells he had used in their Gringotts workroom just a few hours ago. Then again, he was hardly going to get beaten up for it in the Headmistress' office, while it was obviously a very real possibility at Gringotts.

 

"Be that as it may, though," McGonagall added, "there's still something I would like to ask you, Mr Malfoy, and I expect you to give me an honest answer if you want me to consider your suggestion. Mr Weasley tells me you and Mr Potter were both extremely sceptical at first, and while I understand why Mr Potter might reluctantly agree to this arrangement for the sake of his godson, I can't even begin to guess at your motivation because I highly doubt you're that concerned about future generations of Slytherin students. Why, then, do you want this job?"

 

Harry held his breath; it was the question he had been asking himself since it had become obvious that Draco appeared to be a lot more into this idea than he was. Not that he expected Draco to actually tell McGonagall the truth, but he couldn't wait to hear what kind of explanation he would come up with. Would he actually admit that with Bill's return to field work, he could expect to become everyone's favourite punching bag at Gringotts?

 

Draco hesitated, but only for a second. "For the same reason, I suppose – Potter's godson, I mean."

 

For the first time during this entire conversation, McGonagall seemed taken aback, although it was nothing compared to Harry's reaction. What the hell did Teddy have to do with it?

 

"I'm afraid I'm not following." A hint of impatience had slipped into McGongall's tone. "I was under the impression that you have no particular interest in the boy in spite of your blood relation to him."

 

Harry found himself flashing back to the image of Draco levitating a squealing, white-blond Teddy in Mrs Tonks' living room, but he quickly pushed the memory away.

 

"I don't." Draco sounded as if he were barely suppressing a sneer. "Which is why I don't want the boy to become my family's problem, which he undoubtedly would if it turned out that Potter was incapable of taking care of him."

 

McGonagall's lips thinned. "Well, I did ask for an honest answer."

 

Harry, however, was far less inclined to take Draco's explanation at face value. It was certainly arrogant and heartless enough to fit him, but – was it possible that had been deliberate? That Draco had given McGonagall an answer she would be willing to accept without further questioning because it confirmed her opinion of him? Harry was still convinced there was a lot more to the matter than just the wish to keep Lucius and Narcissa from fighting over Teddy, but he could hardly point that out now, given that he had been the one to present McGonagall with the whole idea in the first place.

 

Well, actually it had been Bill Weasley, but that was beside the point now.

 

"And I gave you one." Draco's smug tone only confirmed Harry's suspicion, but that would have to wait until later because the Headmistress nodded curtly.

 

"Then I suppose we have some paperwork to do, gentlemen." She rose, a little stiffly, and offered Draco her hand although her expression remained frosty.

 

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Malfoy."

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Malfoy."

 

Draco inclined his head towards Snape's portrait, a grin on his face. "It's good to see you again, Professor."

 

Snape somehow managed an expression that was both a smile _and_ a sneer. "The feeling is mutual; I was beginning to despair of Potter's incompetence."

 

Harry made a face. "Five seconds until the two of you start ganging up on me. Now _there_ 's a surprise." When neither Snape nor Draco answered, he shot the portrait a dark look. "And of course you start calling _him_ 'Professor' before the ink is dry on his contract."

 

"Since _he_ is actually qualified for the position, I don't see why not." Snape seemed about to go on needling him, but Harry yanked the curtains in front of his portrait shut before he got the chance.

 

Draco raised an eyebrow at him. "How very mature, Potter."

 

"Okay, Malfoy, listen to me _very_ carefully." Harry took a deep breath, doing his best to get his temper under control. _I'm doing this for Teddy._ "I know I have to work with you, and I'll do my best to _make_ it work, but that doesn't mean I'll take any shit from you, do you hear me? I have no idea what you're playing at, but you _are_ going to play nice while you're at it, or I'll make you regret it, is that clear?"

 

Draco merely eyed him coolly, and Harry suddenly felt a little foolish. Maybe that hadn't been the best start if he –

 

"Are you quite finished?" Draco finally asked, his tone icy. "I have no interest in squabbling with you, Potter. I'm here to see what kind of material we'll have to work with, and I'll happily leave you alone as soon as you've shown me. Now if you wouldn't mind...?"

 

Gritting his teeth, Harry turned towards the bookcases next to his desk that had begun to fill up during his weeks of preparation. If he was entirely honest with himself, he was more than a little relieved to realise that he found Draco just as annoying as ever. He'd come to understand a long time ago that Draco wasn't actually _evil_ , but he certainly was a nasty piece of work, his recent appearances in Harry's fantasies notwithstanding. Harry had been more than a little afraid of how he was going to handle being in constant, close vicinity to someone whose image had turned up in his wet dreams, but the way Draco kept grating on his nerves just like he always had went a long way towards putting those worries to rest.

 

"That's pretty much everything we have at the moment. I've been working with Snape's notes, and I suppose we should keep doing that unless you want to start from scratch three weeks before the school year begins –?"

 

He stopped talking when he realised that Draco wasn't listening any longer because he was eyeing the books on Harry's shelves.

 

"That's quite a collection." He sounded – impressed, almost? Harry wasn't entirely sure what to make of Draco's tone. "Given the way the Ministry keeps confiscating anything that even has a whiff of Dark Magic to it, I didn't expect to find your study filled with books that would get us mere mortals arrested if we were caught with them. Where in Merlin's name did you get these? There's no way Madam Pince would allow half of what you have here in her library, not even in the Restricted Section."

 

"Oh, you get all kinds of stuff in Knockturn Alley." Harry did his best to sound nonchalant, although it came out a little smugly.

 

Draco's eyes widened. " _You_ went to Knockturn Alley to buy forbidden books? Pull the other one, Potter."

 

Harry felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. Suddenly he was back in that murky backroom of a shady bookshop, the Doppelgänger ring – _Draco_ 's ring – cutting into his flesh as he dug his fingers into the rough wood of a bookcase, Marcus Flint pressed up from behind against his borrowed body –

 

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck_. How could he have been stupid enough to walk into _that_ without realising it? There was no way he was going to pull himself together fast enough for Draco not to notice –

 

"I never said that I went there myself." He came up with the answer in the nick of time, just as Draco was beginning to frown at his weird reaction, and Harry's knees went wobbly with relief when the familiar sneer replaced the momentary bewilderment on Draco's face.

 

"Of course you didn't – the Chosen One has to keep his precious hands clean, after all. Now, are you finally going to show me Professor Snape's notes?"

 

 


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Um. I have no idea how one apologizes for a three-year hiatus, so instead, I'd like to thank all the lovely people who didn't give up on this story during the impossibly long time between updates, who left me feedback and encouragement and were so very, very supportive of me and patient with my procrastinating ways.  
> I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint too much after such a long wait - it's a bit of a prelude to the next "act" of the plot, and I found it pretty challenging to find my storytelling voice again after such a long time. Therefore, I'd be very grateful for any kind of concrit, and I'll do my best to avoid another endless hiatus between chapters. Thank you again, everyone :-))

"Scared, Potter?"

 

In spite of the challenging tone, Draco's expression was no more than a pale shadow of the sneer Harry remembered from their school days. He seemed just as nervous as Harry felt even though he was obviously trying not to show it.

 

Harry merely shrugged, refusing to take the bait. What galled him far more than Draco's feeble attempt at bravado was the fact that he, Harry, was dutifully wearing the blue robes Madam Malkin had talked him into by claiming that he would look like a schoolboy if he wore simple black; meanwhile, Draco had shown up in robes tailored from a heavy, _black_ material that somehow managed to make the git appear both imposing and far older than he was. Not that Harry would ever tell him that, but it still didn't seem fair.

 

"No more than you, _Professor_ Malfoy. Ready?"

 

It was Draco's turn to shrug. "Of course. They're just a bunch of first years, after all."

 

"You still remember _our_ first year?" Harry muttered under his breath and pushed the Defence classroom door open before Draco had a chance to reply.

 

A hush fell over the assembled students as soon as Harry stepped into the room. He squared his shoulders, marched up to the front desk and turned to face thirty young – God, so very young, had he really been that tiny back then? – faces who were staring at him with varying degrees of curiosity or apprehension. He had got plenty of stares during yesterday's Welcoming Feast too, but at least he hadn't been the sole focus of attention while he had been sitting at the High Table among the rest of the staff; a year of relative obscurity had obviously been enough to let him forget how it felt to have all eyes on him.

 

It came as a relief when Draco's entrance took everyone's attention away from Harry for a moment, although it was impossible to miss how some expressions darkened while others brightened considerably at the sight of their _other_ Defence professor. As luck (or maybe the Headmistress) would have it, the first class Harry and Draco would be teaching together was first year Defence with Gryffindor and Slytherin, and Harry couldn't help thinking that between the two of them, they would probably be able to manage every other group of students if they could survive _that_ kind of beginning.

 

Harry took a deep breath and launched into his part of the opening speech he and Draco had drafted after much debate (" _I won't just be standing there listening to your prattling without getting a word in, Potter!_ " – " _Yes, because we all know you're so good at keeping your mouth shut, Malfoy!_ "), and even though he would never have admitted it, it was reassuring to know that he had an exact script to follow and didn't need to worry about running out of things to say halfway through his lecture. Still, he was rather grateful that they would only have to perform this double act once for every class they taught; after that, they would teach separately, with Harry covering the practical lessons while Draco would stick to the theoretical parts of the curriculum.

 

He could only hope that his nervousness wasn't too obvious to the students – they all seemed to be listening with rapt attention, but of course that could also mean they were eagerly waiting for some kind of embarrassing slip-up. Harry did his best to keep his expression open and friendly, because he remembered how intimidated he had felt by some of the teachers at the beginning of his own first year, but even though some of the Gryffindors smiled back, most of the young faces in front of him remained – sceptical? Hostile? Bored?

 

Harry had little attention to spare for the students' reaction while he was talking; it was much easier to observe the class while Draco was speaking. Draco kept his expression impassive and his tone curt and clipped; Harry was sure it wasn't just his imagination that some of the students gripped their quills more tightly and bent their heads a little lower over their notes so they wouldn't have to meet Draco's eyes. Unbidden, the memory of his first encounter with Snape's teaching style surfaced in Harry's mind, and he couldn't help wondering whether Draco was deliberately channelling his dead mentor or if he'd just fallen back on what felt most familiar to a former Slytherin. Draco had to be pretty nervous too, but he covered it well, and from the look of it, most of the students would think twice about crossing him after that kind of first impression.

 

"Are there any questions so far?" Draco was clearly asking rhetorically, but to Harry's surprise, several hands shot up. Without missing a beat, Draco nodded at a shy-looking Gryffindor girl. "Yes, Miss Ferguson?"

 

_How on Earth does he already know the names?_ They had taken the customary roll call at the beginning of the lesson, but Harry would have been hard-pressed to still remember a single name at this point, and it irked him that Draco seemed way ahead of him in that regard. The girl he had addressed was blushing crimson, but she still turned towards Harry and said in a voice breathless with excitement, "I just – I wanted to ask Professor Potter if he really came back from the dead after You-Know-Who killed him during the Battle of Hogwarts."

 

Harry froze like a deer caught in the headlights when all eyes were suddenly on him again, but Draco didn't give him time to answer. Instead, he turned towards the sandy-haired Slytherin boy whose raised hand had dropped back on his desk when the girl had asked her question.

 

"I take it you were going to ask Professor Potter the same thing, Mr Fawley?" Draco's tone was so icy that the boy shrank back a little, but he still got out a squeaky, "I… yes, Professor?"

 

Without paying further attention to either him or the girl, Draco addressed the whole class. "Who can tell me why Miss Ferguson and Mr Fawley could have saved themselves the question?"

 

He looked around, obviously enjoying the way the students seemed to wither under his gaze ( _Definitely channelling Snape_ , Harry thought), but after a moment's hesitation, several hands rose.

 

"Yes, Miss Burns?"

 

The Slytherin girl Draco had chosen blushed almost as hotly as little Miss Ferguson had. "Because... there is no magic that reverses death?"

 

"Exactly." Draco didn't smile at the girl, but she visibly relaxed nevertheless. "There are several ways to prolong life by magical means, but no magic can _undo_ death, which leads us to the only possible conclusion that –?"

 

"Professor Potter didn't get killed!" a Gryffindor boy with more freckles than Harry had ever seen on anyone who wasn't a Weasley burst out eagerly, but then he froze when Draco raised an eyebrow at him.

 

"While you are correct, Mr Abbott, I would appreciate it if you refrained from speaking out of turn in the future. Five points from Slytherin for the stupidity of your question, Mr Fawley."

 

Harry almost did a double-take. Draco was taking points off his _own_ house instead of jumping at the chance to take them off Gryffindor? Judging by the Fawley boy's gasp, he was no less astonished than Harry. "Why is it only my question now? Ferguson was the one who actually asked it!"

 

Harry didn't even want to imagine how Snape would have reacted to a first year taking such an indignant tone with him, but Draco just replied coolly, "Because, Mr Fawley, Miss Ferguson is Muggle-born, and since she's only just beginning her Hogwarts education, she can't be expected to know anything about basic magical theory at this point. As a pureblood, however, you have been learning about magic since your earliest childhood, and you will therefore be held to a higher standard because _you_ should know better. Any further questions?"

 

Harry wasn't surprised in the least when there were none.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Fifth year Defence with Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw turned out to be far less uncomfortable for Harry than dealing with the first years had been; the fifth years were close enough to his own age that he almost felt like he was once again teaching his fellow students in Dumbledore's Army instead of masquerading as a professor in front of a bunch of children.

 

Double Defence with the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff fourth years, which Harry had been dreading a little since he wasn't sure how well Draco would be able to handle a bunch of Gryffindors without any Slytherins in the mix, also went without a hitch, and by the end of the lesson, Harry was starting to feel a lot more optimistic about the whole endeavour than he had in the morning. It was hard to tell whether Draco felt the same, since he still kept his expression stony and held himself so straight that Harry half expected to get a tension headache just from standing next to him. He deliberated whether he should say anything when the bell rang at the end of the lesson, but he wasn't sure what kind of reaction such a remark might provoke.

 

Once the classroom was empty, Draco immediately left with a clipped "See you in the afternoon, Potter" and didn't show up for lunch in the Great Hall. It galled Harry somewhat because he, too, had considered skipping lunch and asking the house elves for a sandwich to eat in his quarters; sitting at the staff table with hundreds of children watching him still made him feel itchy all over, but he had figured he'd have to get used to it now that he had actually started working as a teacher. Draco obviously had no such qualms, which really shouldn't have come as a surprise, but Harry had better things to do than to pay attention to the git's moods. He hastily finished his uncomfortable lunch and then rushed back to his quarters to firecall Luna for an update on Teddy before it was time for his first afternoon class.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Draco handed out three detentions and took a total of thirty points from the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff second years in the course of a single lesson, but for once, Harry couldn't blame him. Between the posse of giggling girls who just wouldn't shut up, the five boys in the back who kept throwing stuff at each other, and everyone's general assumption that raising your hand granted you automatic permission to start shouting, those students had to be the loudest and most irritating bunch of pre-teens Harry had ever encountered. Even with all the trouble they had been getting themselves into at that age, Harry didn't think he and his classmates had ever managed to be this insufferable.

 

He said as much to Draco once the lesson was thankfully over; he figured he should make it clear that he, too, thought this lot needed to learn some discipline. All it earned him, however, was a dirty look and a snappish, "How about _you_ do something about it next time instead of leaving all the dirty work to me, then?" Harry grit his teeth in annoyance and could have kicked himself for ever opening his mouth in the first place – especially since he couldn't quite help the uncomfortable realisation that Draco might have a little bit of a point for once. The idea of giving detention or taking off points still felt downright absurd to him, but he would have to get used to it once he was on his own in the classroom, and it probably wasn't fair to leave it all to Draco in the meantime – especially since Draco seemed to take far less pleasure in handing out punishments than Harry would have expected.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Are there any further questions?" Draco finished with a bit of a flourish, and Harry fervently hoped that the students would take the hint and keep their mouths shut so they could all get out of the classroom at last. Double Defence with the Ravenclaw and Slytherin third years was their last class of the day, and even though the lesson had gone pretty smoothly, Harry could feel his exhaustion catching up with him now that they were nearly done and he was slowly beginning to relax a little.

 

He had to swallow a groan when one hand immediately shot up, and even Draco sighed under his breath as he nodded at the dark-haired Ravenclaw boy in the back of the classroom. "Yes, Mr Ashcombe, what is your question?"

 

"I'm not asking _you_ anything." The boy crossed his arms and gave Draco a defiant look. "I'm _telling_ you that I refuse to learn Dark Magic. I'm here to learn Defence _Against_ the Dark Arts, so I'll attend Professor Potter's lessons, but you're not going to teach me stuff that should land anyone who knows about it in Azkaban. We've just come out of a war, I'm not letting you groom me for the next one!"

 

The room had gone dead quiet; the other students were craning their necks, and while the boy's fellow Ravenclaws mostly looked alarmed, the Slytherin students were either glaring daggers at him or casting surreptitious looks in Draco's direction.

 

"Are you quite done?" Draco's tone was icily composed, but Harry was standing close enough to see how the muscles in his neck and jaw were tensing.

 

"I'm not." The boy raised his chin in a way that looked… rehearsed, Harry couldn't help thinking – as if he'd been prepared for this moment. "My father is on the Board of Governors, and I'm sure he'll have something to say about the fact that you're trying to turn your students into Dark Wizards." The Slytherins were beginning to mutter among themselves, and Harry realised he had to step in right now if he didn't want the situation to spiral out of control. The irony of a student threatening _Draco Malfoy_ with his school governor father wasn't lost on him, but now was not the time to dwell on it.

 

"Haven't you been listening to anything Professor Malfoy and I have tried to explain during the last two hours, Mr Ashcombe?" Harry asked as evenly as possible before Draco could give the boy an answer that would make things worse. "I think we can all agree that I know a lot more about the war we just fought than you do, and I assure you that we wouldn't have been nearly as vulnerable against Voldemort and his followers if we hadn't all been so utterly clueless about the magic we were fighting. You can't defend yourself against something you don't know or understand, and that's why Professor Malfoy will introduce you to the theory of Dark Magic. Nobody will ask or even allow you to cast Unforgivable Curses in this classroom –" unbidden, the image of a Death Eater wearing Alastor Moody's face rose in this mind, of Carrow writhing in agony, of Greyback's body enveloped in a flash of green ( _don't go there, Harry, don't go there_ ) "– but we are going to make damn sure that you and your classmates are better prepared than we were because you know what you're up against if the need should ever arise again. I'll be happy to explain that to your father, but if either he or you can't live with it, you're free to leave this classroom and finish your education at Beauxbatons, where they might still fool themselves into believing that shielding their students from the ugliness of reality will protect them from it. Do we understand each other?"

 

He realised only now how loud his voice had become, and the wide-eyed stares he was getting from Ravenclaws and Slytherins alike made it obvious that he'd come far too close to losing his temper. Harry forced himself to take a deep breath, but he supposed it was just as well since this was a fight they would have had to face sooner or later anyway.

 

The Ashcombe boy had gone pale but for the angry red blotches on his cheeks, and his voice was choked with anger when he bit out, "Yes, Sir." The underlying message _This isn't over!_ couldn't have been clearer, but Harry had better things to do than worry about the posturing of a thirteen-year old who was probably just parroting his father's words without really understanding what he was talking about.

 

"Very well then." Draco was trying to get a word in, but Harry cut him off again. "Ten points from Ravenclaw for your lack of respect, Mr Ashcombe. I'll see you all on Thursday, so make sure you finish the assigned reading until then. Class dismissed!"

 

Amidst the scraping of chairs and the nervous chatter that arose as the students hastily cleared out of the room, Harry risked a glance in Draco's direction, but Draco was gathering his notes and refused to meet Harry's eyes.


End file.
